A Strange New World
by WritetotheDeath
Summary: Set in an alternate universe, Christine struggles to survive on the streets of a decadent city... when she finds herself an unusual and frightening guardian. Please R&R.
1. Prologue

Here's my latest story. It's basically a reworking of Phantom, set in another world (but without elves, dwarves and other fantasy elements). The story will go through all the various places in the city, from the highest to the lowest. I hope you'll get the general idea of what this alternate reality looks like... or form your own idea from what I've given you here. Let me know if it works... and let me know what you think.

* * *

**A Strange New World**

Prologue

**The Slums – Night**

Down a quiet and dimly-lit street, a man sprinted, breathing heavy and hoarse and his feet loud on the dirty stone. His expensive clothes were in disarray, the sweat poured from his temples, but he was in no position to care. He reached the end of the street, and didn't stop to think about where to go next. He chose a direction and continued to run, aware of his pursuer who, like a monster in a nightmare, seemed to keep up no matter how fast he ran.

He made another turn, praying to lose the man in the darker alleyways. He came to regret the decision when, losing track of where he was, he came to a dead end, with no escape except over a high wall that no man could hope to climb.

He stood still, and heard the footsteps, calm and rhythmical, like the ticking of a clock. They drew closer. Frantic, the man clawed at the bare wall as if he hoped it would fall at his touch and let him through. He bloodied his hands against it until the footsteps reached him and he knew it was no use.

He turned, already fumbling in his pockets to make one last desperate bid for his life. But in the face of this… thing, dressed head to foot in black, with the black cowl pulled down to shadow his face… the unfortunate man felt as though he had come face to face with Death itself, somehow given flesh and life.

"Please…" he stuttered, painfully aware of his life slipping away. "Please… whatever they're paying you…. I'll double it…" There was no response from the dark, threatening figure before him. "I'll triple it!" he cried. "Anything you want! I'll pay it!"

"If you had money to give, I would not be here," said a terrifyingly calm voice from beneath the black hood.

"Please… I need more time!"

"That is not my concern. And besides… you have run out of time."

That was their final exchange. Before the desperate man could give voice to another plea a coil descended over his head and looped around his neck. It took less time to blink… and then the man was crumpling to the ground, cleanly and emotionlessly garrotted. The hooded figure, dressed head to toe in black, bent over the body and insensitively rifled through the pockets.

"I knew you were worth nothing," said the voice coldly. "Just like everyone else."

With disturbing ease he loosened the coil of rope from around the man's neck, leaving behind nothing but the red mark of the rope.

He turned and, without so much as a reflective glance, disappeared from the scene.

* * *

**The Slums– Midday **

A scorching sun hung in the sky, pouring its heat down on the poor people shuffling through the streets without mercy. With the heat and the crowds, there wasn't one person who didn't need to pause to wipe sweat from their forehead. Dust clung to the moisture on their skin and clothes were damp and dirty.

The slums of this great city were the home of the most decadent people to walk the earth. Every cut-throat and thief found their way there eventually, satisfying their corrupt needs in the brothels and shady taverns, concocting their dirty plans in the dark corners. Bets were made, innocence was taken, and deaths were arranged in that place, and the people dealt with it as best they could, each one simply trying to live their life as best, and as long, as they could.

A young girl picked her way through the crowd, as indiscernible from the rest as one might imagine. Her head and shoulders were covered by a dark, mud-coloured shawl to obscure her face. Her cream dress, covered in stains, was torn at the hem, which only came down to just below her knee, revealing pale, slender calves. He feet were enclosed in thin, worn shoes that were little better than scraps of cloth. But she moved quickly, accustomed to the feeling of sharp stones. Her two hands clutched the shawl around her neck. These were slender too… a little more so than was healthy, perhaps. A wisp of blonde hair escaped the shawl and was quickly tucked away again.

Eventually she reached a large wooden door, over which hung a swinging sign announcing the establishment as "The Dancing Herald Tavern". Pulling it open, she stepped into the tavern's front corridor, pausing to relish the coolness as she let the shawl fall down, releasing a blonde cascade of loose, unkempt ringlets. She wiped the film of moisture from her head, noticing that the parlour was crowded. Doubtless people were taking refuge from the blistering heat, although the sheer number of people amassing in such a small area really defeated the object. When the girl entered the parlour she felt suffocated by the overpowering combination of sweat, beer and pipe-smoke.

"Christine," said a voice from behind the wooden bar which stood against one wall. The young girl looked over and greeted the tapster, an ageing but still lively man covered in greying hair. "You're back early," he commented as she approached and brushed a hand through her knotted hair. He spat a lump of his disgusting chewing tobacco into the pot hidden behind the bar.

"Yes…" she said, bracing herself. "You look busy at the moment… does that mean that I'm needed?" she asked hopefully, plucking at the back of her shirt where the sweat had made it cling to the flesh.

The look on the man's sagging features told her the answer before he even opened his mouth and she slumped a little. "I'm sorry, Christine… you know I barely manage to give you the hours I do these days."

Nodding, the young girl begrudgingly conceded the point. It was only because of the man's generosity and friendship with her late father that she had been allowed to work there in the first place and have one of the rooms upstairs. She paid surprisingly little rent on it, but she received no money at all for the work she did either. It was an understanding they had… one that she was grateful for. She did work as and when she was needed, serving the customers their drinks, cleaning up and just generally helping in any way possible. It worked off a little of her guilt about leading this parasitical life-style.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and at least he looked as though he meant it.

"No, it's alright… I'll be fine," she said, waving the apology aside. The man had been good enough to her. How much more could she expect of him?

"How about some lunch? There's some broth in the kitchen… you can help yourself."

Christine smiled. She was not one to turn down a free meal. Thanking him sincerely, she stepped around the counter and went through the beaded curtain that led to the kitchen. There was a woman bent over a sink, scrubbing away, and another drying. Christine greeted them both politely and then went to the stove, serving a bowl of the hot soup that was bubbling away there and carving herself a slice of bread. She cleared a place on the long wooden table, which was as usual crowded with food and crockery, and sat down to eat.

She'd barely made it through her first mouthful of bread before a girl of her age came dashing down the servant's stairs with the swish of silk and the clink of jewellery.

"Hi Christine!" the girl said cheerfully, her pretty round face breaking into a smile. Christine waved back, continuing to chew on her bread. "What do you think?" The girl struck an elegant pose.

Christine swallowed her mouthful. "It doesn't leave much to the imagination, does it, Meg?"

Meg poked her tongue out and then laughed. "Apparently that's the idea… keeps the patrons happy." She shrugged gracefully and looked down at herself. "I just don't understand all this jewellery… it just makes a noise. It's very off-putting."

Christine smiled. Meg was the lead entertainment at the tavern. Nearly every day she was called upon to dance for the customers, and she was very much admired for her talent. She and Christine had been friends for nearly a year, ever since the young girl had started working there, and Christine was constantly grateful for her friend's bright and cheerful attitude to life. It was a breath of fresh air.

"When are you going on?"

"As soon as the minstrel gets tuned up," Meg said, making a face. Christine understood. The so-called "minstrel" was an ageing man who had trouble holding his guitar these days, never mind playing it. He had been excellent in his prime, but now his fingers were falling victim to arthritis and it wouldn't be long before he would have to lay the music aside.

"So how are you?" Meg asked "Is everything alright?"

Christine shrugged and mumbled an unconvincing "yes", which caused Meg to instantly sit down on the bench beside her.

"What's wrong? You look upset."

Nodding, Christine shrugged again. If Meg's word was anything to go by, she looked upset almost every second of the day. Well, she had good reason to, especially since she was going to have to go out again as soon as evening came and do her _other_ job.

"I'm just worried," she said, then leaned close to her friend, lowering her voice so the other two women couldn't hear when she said: "I _hate_ doing this, Meg. I've never felt so low and… _wretched_."

Meg's expression was sympathetic, but she didn't have the chance to say anything before the beaded curtain was pushed aside and she was called out to the front to begin her dance. Adjusting a piece of silk and making certain her black hair was all in place, she gave Christine's hand a small squeeze.

"I'll see you later, alright?"

"Yes… good luck," Christine replied, squeezing back and smiling half-heartedly. She watched Meg disappear, and couldn't help but smile when she heard the roar of approval from the people in the tavern. She finished eating quickly and made it to the front just in time to see the dance begin. In a swirl of silk Meg captivated her audience, and moved her body hypnotically to the music.

It was quite a sight, but Christine couldn't help but feel a little envious. Meg was always so care-free and, well… she just seemed to walk effortlessly through life. If only _she_ could live like that… with no worries, and making her money doing something she loved rather than something that made her sick to her stomach.

After a while Christine turned and left with a heavy feeling in her chest.

* * *

**The Dancing Herald Tavern**

Even in the middle of her dance, Meg noticed her friend go, and didn't fail to see her saddened expression. Fixing her smile, she turned carefully on her feet.

She had been looking out for Christine for a while now, and noticed that recently she seemed to be struggling more and more to cope with a lifestyle that was almost completely in opposition to her gentle and caring nature. It was terrible to think of how her circumstances had brought her to this.

Meg often wished she could help out more than just by being a confidant and the occasional laugh. But she knew what Christine really needed. She was not by any means weak… a little naive perhaps… but more or less capable of surviving, even in this dark and miserable city. But the strain of fending for herself… dealing with the corrupt people she had to deal with… it was slowly building up, and Meg was worried one day she would snap under the strain.

What she needed was a man… someone to be her support. Up until 18 months ago it was her father who had been her corner-stone. She had been almost wholly dependant upon him, and then been flung into a harsh reality after his death.

And then she had gotten involved with _him_.

Meg had chastised her again and again for getting herself into that situation. But no amount of telling off was going to change the fact that this girl was in way over her pretty little head, and with no way to climb out of the hole she was digging deeper and deeper every day

One day, Meg was truly afraid there would be no way back for her friend.

* * *

**The Lower City - Dusk**

Christine had been wandering the streets around for a few hours before finally working up the nerve to make her way towards this part of the city. The crowds had dissipated a little, and she moved easily through them, keeping an eye on the sky as the light began to dim and the sky took on the colours of sunset. Now was the time when the wealthier men came down from the upper city to linger with the, well… the less respectable citizens.

She looked around at the people, trying not to really see them as human beings like her. Even though she hated thinking in this way, it made it easier to deal with them. They weren't people who had families and loved ones… they weren't real...

She walked forward, head down but her eyes up and looking out when, for no apparent reason, she tripped and fell. She would have hit the pavement were it not for a gentleman who had been close enough to catch her. He didn't appear too happy to have been bumped into, but set her back on her feet and asked her if she was alright.

"Yes," she trilled, a little flustered by the whole matter. "No harm done. I am sorry." The man, seemingly charmed by her looks and her sincere apology shook his head and said that no apology was necessary, but she should watch her step in the future. She gave him a smile and then, with another apology and a polite curtsy, went on her way until she was lost in the crowd once more.

The gentleman didn't realise until much later that his pocket-watch was missing.

* * *

A/N: Yep, Christine is a pickpocket. Don't worry, motivations and everything will be revealed as the story progresses... if people review, of course, hehe. Please enjoy! 


	2. The Wrong Pocket

I decided to do an early update because I was so happy with the feedback for the prologue. It was funny how everyone thought Christine was going to be a prostitute! But no, she isn't. And Meg isn't a stripper, just to be clear. She just dances. Her clothes are a bit revealing, but they stay ON. And I'm glad people thought Erik was cold... that was the idea. Thank you!

I might go and do a bit of re-writing... just to make the setting a little clearer. It is not a 'modern' world. Please let me know if things should be clearer.

Anyway... no with the story. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 1

**The Lower City – Late Evening**

It had been a quiet day, and it would no doubt turn into a quiet night also. He had no commissions left, and had only ventured out onto the streets because he felt restless. Perhaps it was time to investigate the slums, where his kind of service was most frequently sought. He considered it as he walked. In a way it was a relief to be free of any contracts. It was tiresome running after these idiots who didn't know better than to borrow money from people who had no qualms about killing… or at least paying someone else to do it.

On the other hand, he made a tidy living from those kinds of 'idiots'. And it was a wonderful way to relieve tension… free his anger at the world in general in one swift and simple move. He could certainly do with that now… after spending most of the day in a constant state of agitation. Right now the snapping of a neck would have been music to his ears.

He couldn't help but chuckle a little at that.

But his humour quickly died and he adjusted the cowl over his head as a group of men, accompanied by several women of questionable repute, passed him in the street. They were laughing and joking amongst themselves, but when they were behind him he could feel their curious gazes. After years of being subjected to this kind of blatant scrutiny, it had become something of a sixth sense.

He hunched his shoulders and gritted his teeth. If they had had any clue as to who he was they would not even have dared glance at him. He had become quite infamous in certain circles… and rumours spread quickly in this city. Some true… some less so. It served a purpose, but he didn't like it in the least. He _hated_ gossip… hated the stupid people who spread it like a disease. It brought in jobs… but also questions, which were the last thing he wanted.

It made him angry and irritable just thinking about it.

Turning down yet another street, he managed to calm himself a little by humming quietly. Perhaps he would return home instead and work on that new composition. It was coming along well… it just needed a little re-working in places. Perhaps if…

He was caught momentarily off-guard in his preoccupied state, only given a fraction of a second to realise that someone was close to him… much closer than he liked. He heard the gentle, girlish cry, and then the sudden sensation of a warm body collapsing against his. Something throbbing and red-hot shot up inside him as, for a moment, he held on to the girl who had fallen into him, shocked and disbelieving. But his instincts came quickly into play and, outraged beyond belief, he pushed at the young girl's shoulders, forcing her a good few feet from him. Every muscle in his body tensed as some inner turmoil seeped over his skin at the thought that someone had been so close.

His anger flared. He stared fiercely at the pretty face, the blonde hair… the blue eyes that were wide with shock. Her lips moved, but his blood was boiling in his ears and he didn't hear her.

He watched as she nervously retreated and disappeared around the corner of a building.

He didn't need to check his pockets. He had felt her fingers, light and quick though they had been, wandering over the pocket of his coat.

If anyone had been in a position to see his eyes, they would have believed they were face to face with a demon.

Dark anger radiating from him, he set off after the girl.

* * *

**The Slums **

Christine, as soon as she was certain she was out of the man's sight, had run all the way back to the edge of the slums, changing directions several times in an attempt to throw off any possible pursuers. She slumped briefly against a wall to catch her breath and stop her racing heart.

Something about the way the man had reacted had left her shaken. People were sometimes upset when she played the 'oh I tripped' trick, but never to this extent. The violent way he had pushed her back, as if their physical contact had repulsed him beyond imagining.

And the way she had felt his murderous gaze… without even needing to see his eyes under that dark hood…

She calmed herself as she began to walk again, quickly, back towards the Dancing Herald. Perhaps he was one of those really uptight noblemen, to whom the thought of being in the same room as a commoner was stomach-turning. Or maybe he was just paranoid about being caught in that area of the city… visiting a lady in one of the brothels. He was certainly worried enough about being recognised to wear a hood. It happened sometimes… wealthy husbands looking for a little pleasurable company, but who couldn't afford a scandal. Yes, he was probably that sort… hiding his face like that.

At least the ordeal had not been without its rewards, she told herself, tightening her grip on the elegant silver watch before slipping it into her pocket. Hopefully she could take a reasonable percentage from it when she brought it in.

She saw the tavern's lights up ahead and, thinking herself safe, relaxed her shoulders and breathed easily. It was too late before she heard the soft, fast footsteps of someone behind her. Normally she would have thought nothing of it, but not this time. These feet had a purpose, and her gut instinct told her what it was. She broke into a run, not being foolish enough to look back.

But she wasn't fast enough. Her wrist was seized in a grip that came very close to breaking bones and she was dragged into a gap between two buildings. She cried out as she was thrown roughly against a wall and pinned there by a grip on her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut as she braced herself for a punch to the stomach… a knife between her ribs.

None came, but she felt the long, icy fingers on her neck tighten their grip.

"You should take better careabout who you choose to pickpocket, Miss," snarled a man's voice.

She opened her eyes and, though her vision was blurry and there was little light, she looked directly at her assailant.

She gave a strangled gasp.

His hood had fallen back, exposing a face that, at first, she thought was frightening expressionless. It was only when her vision cleared that she realised it was a mask… made from black leather. It covered the entire face from his hair-line to his jaw except for holes for the eyes, nostrils, and a gap at the mouth, over which hung a piece of black material.

The only real part of him that was visible was his eyes, which glowed with vehement anger like two pinpoints of yellow light in some demonic darkness. Christine couldn't contain a whimper of fear.

"I do not appreciate having my property stolen from me by some impudent upstart."

"I'm sorry!" she choked out desperately.

"Of course you are… now that I have you by the throat. I doubt you would have given it a second thought it I had let you get away with it."

Christine would have denied this… she hated picking pockets… being a thief. But looking at those yellow eyes, she doubted her words would have meant anything. Probably nothing she could have said would have made a difference. She closed her eyes as another whimper escaped her, followed by a long silence. He was probably deciding what to do with her, she thought, trembling all over.

_I'm going to die… I'm really going to die… I'm so sorry... Mama..._

She waited.

But, to her surprise,the grip on her throat shifted… relaxing a little. She opened her eyes again, and saw the murderous look in his eyes had faded.

"The watch, Miss… if you would be so kind."

She didn't dare moving her fingers, they were shaking so much. "It's in… my pocket," she gasped quietly, hardly able to control her breathing. Her eyes caught the movement of his free hand, and her whole body stiffened. He paused. Then reached forward again and, swiftly, without her even feeling anything, lifted the watch from her pocket.

He withdrew both his hands, releasing her from that terrifying grip. She sagged and nearly collapsed.

"You're lucky," the man remarked unpleasantly. "I don't like to kill women."

She turned her eyes up to him, hardly daring to believe the possibility that he would let her go. As she watched he took a step back and away from her. Confused, she looked at him, lips parted and cheeks glistening.

"Find a more honest profession," he told her curtly, and then, without another word, left her alone.

Relief washed over her, tinged with disbelief and a sudden, overwhelming feeling of guilt. Falling down onto her knees, she struggled to control her breathing and finally broke out in sobs, covering her face with her arms and feeling her chest ache as he lungs fought for air.

When she had finally reasserted control over her breathing and was able to stand, albeit rather shakily, she made her way to the tavern, using the dusty walls for support. Her body felt numb and strangely cold. Her throat especially, where the man had grasped her, tingled from some unknown chill. She rubbed it to try and make it go away.

She dismissed the concerned questions of the innkeeper, and simply said that she was tired and needed some sleep. Distractedly, she made her way upstairs to her room, locking the door behind her.

She wished she could lock herself away from the sound of that man's voice, and his voice that only reinforced the guilt she was subject to every day.

_Find a more honest profession…_

How she wished it were that simple.

* * *

**The City Sewers**

Making his way down through the murky darkness, the masked man clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting to control himself.

He wasn't sure why he had let the girl off so easily. His first instinct, when he realised what she had done, had been to wring her delicate neck… squeeze until her body went limp in his grasp.

Damn it to hell, _why_ had he stopped? What would it matter? It would be one less whoring pickpocket wandering the streets.

He steadied himself against the wall of the sewer and took a deep, long breath, letting it out as a shudder. He had been close… so close to having her blood on his hands…but then something about the way she had looked at him with those wide blue eyes… the innocent fear that he hadn't been expecting to see… the pleading voice that was still ringing in his head.

In all his years of living on the streets, he had seen plenty of criminals. He'd been the death of many a man… and frightened countless people, male and female. He'd seen humans at their worst, watched them confront the possibility of death… and taught himself to be oblivious to their horror and their pleas for mercy… their desire to continue living. He had taught himself not to care. He had seen everything there was to see when it came to killing.

Or so he had thought. The look on that girl's face… the purity… he had never imagined that such incorruptibility could exist in human nature. It just wasn't possible. He had hesitated…

_Starting to lose your touch, Erik?_ asked a cynical voice inside his head.

He pushed the thought aside, along with the lingering image of the girl's face. He had enough memories of frightened women to last a lifetime.

He reached a portion of sewer wall which, to anyone else, would have just been a perfectly ordinary part of the underground tunnels, lined with wet moss and dripping with dirty water. But, when he applied pressure to a certain part of the brick and waited a moment, the wall shuddered, and then spun on some kind of pivot, allowing him through into a hidden corridor. This took him down into a series of large stone vaults that, many years ago, had been an extension of the dungeons used by the law enforcers of the city. Unfortunate criminals, heretics or other 'disturbers of the peace' who had been stupid enough to get caught were brought down here and had their confessions effectively tortured from them before being taken to the gallows.

An unfortunate collapse of one of the tunnels had rendered this section useless until Erik had 'moved in' and it had proven to be quite an auspicious living place, once he had ensured that it was habitable. It served all his needs… most especially his need for privacy and solitude. He had managed to completely seal it off from the rest of the city dungeon, to ensure that they could never accidentally break through and discover him, but he had also connected it in various places to the cities sewer system, which he knew like the back of his hand and, during the daylight hours, used as his favourite way of moving about.

Once inside the largest chamber, he removed his cowl and wearily placed it on a hook. Around him the torches burnt and cast eerie shadows over the furnishings and into the corners of the chamber he would guess was a 'living room'. A gorgeous but not over-elaborate rug lay out over the floor, wine red with tendrils of dark gold and green curling around and blooming into black flowers. Elaborate tapestries hung from the walls, depicting great mythological battles and hellish creatures from the depths of human nightmare.

He settled himself down in a high-backed chair set before an empty stone fire-place that he never used, but thought of as very elegant and refined. He breathed a sigh, feeling the soft material covering his mouth shift slightly. He kept still, trying to make himself feel relaxed in both mind and body, but somehow he felt more restless than ever. That girl's terrified face wouldn't vanish from his mind.

Why was he suddenly plagued by guilt for frightening her?

Finally he stood up and went to one corner, pulling back a large velvet drape to reveal an impressive organ built into the stone. Sitting himself down, he began to play… loud, thundering notes that openly expressed his frustration. The more he played, the calmer he began to feel, until eventually the notes became tranquil and relaxed also. He found himself rationalising his actions. Why should he feel guilty? He had just given her a fright. It was no less than she deserved for being a thief… his actions were perfectly justified.

But why, damn it, did he suddenly feel the need to justify himself?

An angry, dissonant chord rang through the chamber, followed by a long string of curses.

Erik was not going to find any peace of mind tonight.

* * *

A/N -Asyou can no doubt see, I'm writing this a little differently than I did "Il Mio Amore Scuro". I wanted to experiment with multiple view points (it was really just an excuse to write a little from Erik's point of view, hehe). Please let me know if it is being handled well. See you next time!


	3. Taking What's Owed

Hello again everybody!

I forgot to say a little word about Operation: Masquerade last time (someone asked about it)... but I will now, very quickly. That project has gone on hold for a while... I kind of ran out of inspiration. But it's all still there, and I might start it up again at some point so don't give up on that just yet.

Thank you again for your reviews. You guys are brilliant! Enjoy this next chapter.

* * *

Chapter 2

**The Dancing Herald Tavern - Morning**

"Christine?"

There was a slight murmur of response.

"Sweetheart, are you there?"

It took a few seconds for Christine to raise her head and wake herself up enough to answer the worried call of the woman on the bed. She pulled herself up out of the armchair she had been sleeping in, and went over to the bedside.

"Yes, Mama… I'm here," she said reassuringly as she took the thin, wrinkled hand. The silver-haired woman smiled with relief and shut her sightless eyes, content to hear the familiar voice of the young girl. "I was worried."

"I'm sorry, Mama… I didn't come in until late. I didn't think it fair to wake you."

"Thoughtful as ever," the lady commented, smiling in Christine's direction. The smile was returned, but faded quickly.

"How are you today?"

"I'm alright, dear. There isn't too much pain."

Christine nodded. Mrs AdelleValerius, or 'Mama' as she was affectionately called, was not actually a blood relative at all, although the two treated each other as such. The lady had been a great friend of Christine's late father, who had taken it upon himself to care for her when her husband passed away many years ago. Mama had in turn become a mother-figure to Christine, who had not been old enough to remember her real mother.

Unfortunately, Mama Valerius had come down with some sickness for which the doctors could not find a cure. It weakened her limbs and taken her eyesight, confining her to bed. Her cheeks grew hollow, her skin paled and her voice grew hoarse from coughing. Christine and her father had moved to the city explicitly to find a good doctor to help them. Instead, however, they had found themselves living in squalor, and her father, their main provider, had passed away in a terrible epidemic only a year after arriving.

Since then, Christine had been fighting every day to afford the medicine that, while it could not cure her, did at least ease the old woman's pain. It was expensive, but Christine never let her Mama know the desperate situation they lived in, forever maintaining the pretence that she had a good, well-paying job and could afford any medicine required. Mama did not know they were living off the generosity of the innkeeper, and that the real money came from thievery.

Every day it grew harder and harder for Christine to maintain the pretence. She dreaded to think of what her Mama would say if she knew the truth, and it hurt her to wonder what her father, thought of her actions, in spite of her good intentions.

Even that masked man last night had admonished her for her dishonest trade.

She steeled herself. That man knew nothing of her situation… he had no right to judge her.

"Are you working today?" the lady asked.

"Yes, but I hope I'll be finished by tonight," Christine replied.

"You'll come back and read to me then?"

The young girl smiled. It was one of the few pleasures Mama had left… having Christine read to her. She always professed Christine as a charming little actress, and with a lovely voice to match. Before her father's death, Christine might have even been coaxed into singing, plucking a tune on her father's small mandolin. But, like almost every other possession they had, the mandolin had been sold and Christine had not been able to find it in her heart to sing since then… at least not anything that would make Mama feel better.

"Of course I will," she promised, squeezing the woman's hand.

Leaning forward she kissed a pale cheek and with a final goodbye left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. To her intense relief, when she went downstairs, she was asked to do some work in the kitchen, preparing food and cleaning the surfaces. After taking up a tray of food to Mama Valerius, and sitting with her to have breakfast, she began working. She threw herself into it as always, even getting down on her hands and knees to scrub the stone floor.

She worked all day, taking only a few breaks to sit with Mama and eat. Other than that, she was constantly looking out for things to do. The busier her hands were, the more her mind was focused away from things she did not wish to think about. In the late afternoon she found herself crouched under the table, gathering up as much of the bits of food that had fallen under there as she could manage, determined to make the kitchen spotless. She felt tired and sore by this time, and was looking forward to finishing. She heard someone come in but didn't pay any heed to them, until they shouted her name incredibly loudly, obviously not realising she was so close. She jumped up in surprise and, in doing so, banged her head on the hard wooden table.

"Ow!"

"Christine?"

The voice came down to her level, and Meg's face appeared looking confused, and then amused.

"Make you jump?" she giggled.

Christine glared at her, rubbing the sore spot on the top of her head as she climbed out from under the table. "Just a little," she mumbled. "Oh, that hurt… I think I broke my skull."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Meg said, relenting a little and feeling the bump that was already forming on her friend's head. "Are you okay?"

Grinning, Christine nodded. "I'll be fine… did you want me for something?"

"I just wanted to see if you were alright… apparently you were acting a little strange when you came in last night. Did something happen?"

Christine looked at her friend, and wondered if it was worth telling her about the events of last night. It was nothing to get worried about. Yes, it had left her a bit shaken, but no lasting damage had been done. Finally she gave in and told her concerned friend what happened.

"My god," Meg exclaimed, seizing Christine's two hands with her own. "Are you sure you're alright."

"Honestly, Meg… I'm fine. I'm just glad it turned out so well. He could have strangled me easily!" She gave a small shudder. "I thought he would too."

"Well… why didn't he?"

Christine hesitated. The man had said he didn't like to hurt women, but remembering the cold grip he had on her neck… he had certainly seemed like the type who would. But at the last moment he had appeared to change his mind, for some reason Christine doubted she would never know.

"I suppose I was just lucky," she said with a little shrug.

"Maybe his murderous hand was swayed by your beauty and charms!" Meg said, laughing and pretending to swoon, almost falling off the bench. Christine laughed with her, if only to cover up her embarrassment at the suggestion.

"I doubt he would want anything to do with… an 'impudent upstart'," Christine said, reminding Meg of what the man had called her.

"Oh come on… how can you be so dismissive of a dashing man in a mask?"

Christine shook her head. "Only you could find the prospect of being strangled by a masked man romantic," she said, nudging her friend in the ribs. She didn't give Meg a chance to say anything more, however, telling her that she should get going. Meg's expression instantly changed to one of deep concern.

"You're not going… _there_ are you?"

They didn't need to speak the name of the place. They both knew it well enough.

"I don't have much choice, Meg. If I don't go there, they'll come up here looking for me and drag me back there. It's easier this way."

"You need to get away from him, Christine," Meg insisted, grasping her arm. "You can't keep this up, and you know he's just going to keep getting worse. You have to stop."

"You know it's not that simple. If it was I would have tried! But right now I can't afford to… this is the only way. I hate it but… it's not like I have a choice."

Christine was relieved to see Meg drop the subject, although as she left she could feel worried eyes watch her go. While she appreciated Meg's concern, it did nothing for her nerves to be reminded how dangerous her situation was. And, like she had said over a million times, she couldn't just walk away from this… not if she wanted to help Mama… and stay out of harm's way.

Upstairs, Christine very quietly slipped into the room she and Mama used. The old lady had fallen asleep and, not intending to wake her, Christine tip-toed over to the empty, unused fireplace. Reaching up, her fingers found a small ledge inside the chimney and extracted a small bundle, wrapped in cloth. There was the soft clink of metal and jewellery from inside.

She clutched the package in her blackened fingers as she left the room, and the tavern, without so much as a word to anyone. Outside, dusk was beginning to fall, but Christine could already feel the chill of night closing in around her.

* * *

**City Sewers – Dusk**

Erik had just left his home, having spent a restless day and night trying to occupy himself. Finally he had given up and decided this particularly black mood of his was best overcome by going out and finding a contract.

The best place for him to go was the Hanging Judge, right in the centre of the slums. It wasn't exactly upper-class… far from it. But it was the refuge for the most influential people in this area of the city. The men there practically ran the whole corrupt operation.

But while they were the ones 'in charge', it was _his_ name… or rather his alias, which struck respectful fear in the hearts of the lesser men of the city. The threat of finding oneself stalked by the infamous masked killer was enough to make any man with a sense of self-preservation keep in line. Without the likes of him, those power-hungry gangsters would have been just like everyone else… scraping a living on the streets. It took years for them to establish themselves as such figures of power, and have sufficient money to pay Erik to kill those who got in their way. He gave them their most powerful weapon...

_Fear._

Erik didn't care much who was in power where when or why. He didn't give a damn about their corrupt practices… and he didn't pick sides. He did what people paid him to do and that was all. He had been the target of more than a few assassination attempts himself over the years… by people who took his contracts too personally. The fact that he was still alive and they were not proved a significant point.

He was the best… everyone knew it.

He finally reached the sewer opening he was looking for and climbed up the ladder, pushing the grill over and climbing through into the small alleyway. It didn't bother him that the sewers were so easily accessible to people in general. Very few people felt the need to use them to get around, unless perhaps they were on the run… but his home within the sewers was well hidden, and he was very capable of avoiding (or usually frightening) anyone who happened to wander down there. No one was there to see him emerge either, the Hanging Judge didn't play host to the kind of people with enough self-respect to hide their lust and corruption in dark alleys. The whores and pimps could be heard, laughing and jeering inside.

Erik slipped in through the back entrance and found himself a nice, dark corner. He felt some eyes turn to him, and studiously ignored them. One whore, obviously unfamiliar with his reputation, tried to make eye contact and started to make her way over, but was seized by one of her companions, who whispered what was obviously a warning in her ear. The woman immediately turned her attention elsewhere, for which Erik was very glad. He had no interest whatsoever in these girls… and once they knew who he was they were always too scared to approach him.

As well they should be.

He passed a hand briefly over the black leather of his mask, pushing his hood back. The place was not terribly crowded, but it was loud and stifling and it made him twitchy. Sickly tobacco smoke was everywhere. It made him want to stop breathing… and almost every sound, the clink of mugs, the jeers and mans, made him inwardly grimace.

He glanced around, waiting to see where his next contract might come from, and hoping it would be soon.

A small chorus of loud jeers and cat-calls came from across the tavern by the entrance, and Erik looked over to see what fresh entertainment had been brought it. A figure had just stepped into the tavern, and let her own hood down to reveal a strikingly beautiful face, framed by soft gold locks.

Her innocent blue eyes searched the room, and met his. He watched her flinch in recognition, and realised that he had seen that face and that look of ingenuous fear before.

It was the girl pick-pocket.

* * *

**The Hanging Judge Tavern – Evening**

He was quite possibly the last person Christine had expected to see. Hidden away in his shadowy corner, she easily recognised him by the black mask and the yellow eyes that stared directly into hers from the darkness. What was he doing here? Was he following her? Hadn't he given her enough of a fright already or had he perhaps decided to return and punish her properly this time.

She held his gaze, more out of a mixture of shock and fear than defiance, until a voice and a rough, heavy hand on her arm forced her to break the eye contact. Heat rushed to her face as she stared up at the thick set man who had accosted her.

"This way," he said bluntly. People here did not waste time on pleasantries.

She nodded, but risked a final look into the dark corner. The shadow had turned away from her. She took this as a good sign, and concentrated on what she had come here to do in the first place. Following the man, she found herself standing before a table where three men sat, apparently engaged in a card game.

"Sir," said her escort.

One of the men held up his hand for silence. He grasped the cards in his gnarled, grubby fingers, biting on a cigar. He placed another bet, which was met by each of his opponents. He grinned, displaying two rows of jagged, broken teeth. Removing the cigar from his mouth he said, with no small amount of smug satisfaction, "Well, let's have a look at what yer got."

One by one, the men displayed their cards and, with a crow of triumph, the winner raked in the money. It was only when he had it all neatly counted out in front of him that he looked up at saw Christine.

"Well, look at this li'l ray of sunshine," he leered, sending another rush of heat to Christine's face. He stared down at her feet, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Why don't yer take a seat."

It sounded like an invitation, but it wasn't, and Christine found herself more or less forced into the chair offered her. She clenched her fists around the bundle in her lap, drawing the man's attention to it.

"Is that what yer got for me?" he asked. She nodded. "Let's get a look at it then."

Obligingly, she tipped it out onto the table. There were three or four pocket watches there, two leather wallets and some small pieces of jewellery. Christine was painfully aware that it was not up to standard, and felt her stomach churn as the man opposite her sucked in air between his teeth and sifted through the small collection. He picked up a wallet and opened it, extracting the paper money inside and counting it. Christine watched in silence as he picked up the other and went through that one. He pulled out a square of card, sneered at it and tossed it in her direction, making her flinch.

Once he had investigated the items to his satisfaction, he leaned back and appeared to think deeply.

"Not exactly what I was expectin', missy," he said, shaking his head.

She knew better than to answer back.

"Yer gonna have to do better than this in the future, yer know. Not just for your own sake. I gotta make a living too, yer know."

He laughed at his own little joke, and was joined by the others at the table. Christine forced a smile onto her face, but inwardly cursed the man who had absolutely no sympathy for her situation whatsoever and thought only of himself.

"If yer don't start pullin' yer weight with this, yer gonna find yourself doing a different kind of work."

Now Christine did look up at him, her eyes wide. He gave her a disgusting, rotted grin and inclined his head towards the bar, where several of the prostitutes were attempting to draw the men upstairs. Horrified at the prospect, Christine looked back at the man, who laughed at her obvious distress.

"Hah! Too uptight for that line o' work, aren't yer," he scoffed. "Well, yer might have to get used to the idea one o' these days, if yer don't start deliverin'."

She nodded stiffly. It was bad enough she was a thief… she did not wish to sink any lower. Her whole body shook at the mere thought of giving herself up for money. She had vowed, when coming here, to never grow that desperate. But the more she came, the more the idea was forced upon her, and the more pressure she was placed under… as if these twisted men wanted to see her broken.

She was jolted out of her thoughts by a hand slamming on the table. The man slid a few notes and coins towards her.

"Here's what's owed. Now get out there and make yerself useful."

She didn't even look up. She murmured her customary thank you, seized the money and stood up to go, head down and eyes focused on the ground. She was in such a rush she didn't notice when someone stepped out in front of her, and she collided with a very solid body. She raised her head, either to apologise or make some rude remark, when her muscles tensed up.

It was that masked man.

"Are you not going to attempt to pick my pocket this time, Miss?" he asked snidely.

Christine lowered her head, not liking the feel of his judging gaze, or the heaviness of his words. His voice seemed to be driving them into her head.

"I take it you have learnt a lesson then?"

Again, she didn't reply. Instead, she tried to step round him, but he moved to block her, apparently not about to let her go without yet another cruel remark.

"You know, you don't strike me as the sort who would skulk around the streets, stealing."

God, his words hurt.

"I dread to think what your parents might think of you."

Christine felt the numbness take over her chest, squeezing her heart, and now she did look up into the man's masked face, meeting those yellow eyes with her own, even as she felt them brim with tears. Her lower lip shook. Did he have any idea what he was saying? Was he deliberately twisting the knife already buried in her gut?

A cruel laugh came from behind her, and she heard the voice of her employer, who must have been listening to the conversation and decided to add his own painful observation.

"Ah, no problems there," he laughed, addressing the masked man. "Can't shame yer parents when they're six feet under ground. Or can yer?"

There was uproarious laughter from the men behind her, and Christine felt all the colour and the heat drain from her, as if her heart was sucking all the blood into itself, threatening to burst in her chest from the pressure. Their laughter pierced her ears, and she couldn't block it out.

So she ran and this time the masked man made no move to stop her. She pushed past him, her vision swimming in her tears, and charged out of the pub and down the street. But the laughter chased after her, until she couldn't stand it any longer and simply collapsed in a doorway and, bringing her knees up to her chest and sobbing wretchedly into her arms.

* * *

A/N: I hope it doesn't seem too much of a rip-off to include Mama Valerius in the story. I was going to change her name but thought, ah... who am I kidding, it's obvious who she's meant to be. Anyway, she is a pretty important character here... giving Christine her motivations for doing what she does etc. She's a lot more dependant on Christine than in the Leroux book.

As for Stefan... I hope you hate him, lol. I really want you to not like him! If his accent seems a little inconsistent then I'm sorry, I did my best... but hopefully you get the idea of what he is meant to sound like.

I'm glad everyoneseems to beenjoying this so far. Hopefully I can keep it up. Thanks again, see you next time.


	4. Feel Nothing

Wow... I'm so glad people are enjoying this. If this turns out even half as popular as "Il Mio", I'll be dancing! Anyway, hopefully I can keep this up... thanks everyone for your reviews. I'm glad you feel sorry for Christine... and hate Stefan, hehe.

BTW...**Olethros:** I didn't realise the irony of that line until you pointed it out, lol. That gave me a good laugh. At least he didn't really strangle her though.

Anyway... onto the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 3

**The Hanging Judge Tavern – Night**

Erik stood in the tavern, unmoving and hardly able to contain himself. The men sitting at the table were still laughing at the expense of the young girl who had just left, and Erik was astonished to feel the surge of guilt as he realised he had instigated the cruel remark of that man… Stefan.

Stefan was, essentially, the head of this place. He owned the tavern, the women who sold themselves here, and most of the people who lived in the surrounding area. The pickpockets, thieves and whores were all required to bring their earnings to him, and expected to take the percentage he gave them without a flicker of questioning. Erik had accepted commissions from him before, and he was no better than the other men of the slums who were just a little more well-off and influential than the rest.

But now, strangely enough, Erik found himself looking down on him with a little more disgust than before. He had seen the look in that young girl's eyes at the mention of her parents… he'd felt her anguish in the air as she desperately pushed past him.

Once again, he found the conscience he never thought he possessed beginning to plague him.

"Ya gonna sit down or what?" Stefan said, the humour having subsided at last.

Erik collected himself, keeping his voice level and careless, betraying nothing. "That depends on whether we have business to discuss."

"Good thing we do," Stefan said, and indicated the chair that the young girl had been sitting in. Erik seated himself and stared back at the other man coolly from behind the mask. "So… what's with you and our li'l Christine?" he asked suddenly. "Ya know each other?"

"This is not business," Erik said, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

"Nah, this is me indulgin' my curiosity. The Angel of Death ain't usually so friendly with people."

Erik didn't flinch at the use of his alias. It was not a name he had encouraged or condoned when he started out in this business. It was just something that had stuck with him over the years, along with all the rumours. And, like the rumours, it added to his reputation throughout the city. He supposed he was in no position to complain. It was not, after all, the worst name he had ever been given.

"I would hardly call that exchange 'friendly'," he retorted, realising with hindsight just how malicious his words must have sounded to this 'Christine' girl. He saw that Stefan would not leave the subject alone and gave a resigned sigh. "If you must know… she attempted to lift my pocket watch the other night."

Stefan nearly fell out of his chair laughing. Erik had expected this, but did not share his humour, and remained perfectly still, waiting for him to get a grip on himself.

"Well… I knew she was dumb, but _that_ dumb? Hah! Bet ya gave her quite a scare for that."

_Perhaps more than she deserved_, said a little voice in Erik's head. He pushed it aside and, instead, found himself asking questions without stopping to think. "How did she come to be involved with you?"

Stefan shrugged dismissively. "Ah, she ran into some trouble over paying for medicine. Needed some money… so we taught her the tricks of the trade."

"Medicine?" Erik asked. "Is she ill?" _Damn it, why in hell are you asking this? What does it matter?_

"Nah, some old hag she looks after. They got a room at the Dancing Herald."

This bit of information only succeeded in making Erik feel worse for the girl, not to mention his behaviour towards her. All she was doing was trying to survive in this harsh and unforgiving place, just like he was… and she did it not just for her own sake, but for this 'old hag'. It sounded quite… noble. Far nobler than his own existence.

He mentally shook himself. It was not like him to think in this way.

He looked up at Stefan, and found himself being scrutinised by those shrewd eyes. The man had not got to where he was by not being clever. He was good at reading people, masked or otherwise. Erik braced himself for whatever was coming next.

"Why all the questions?" the man asked. "This girl get to ya, or something?"

Erik stiffened visibly, and his fist clenched on his knee until he felt his nails digging into the flesh. Of all things right now, he did not wish to be taunted especially when (though he didn't particularly wish to admit it) the man was more or less correct. Yes, something about her did 'get to him', though he wasn't sure what it was, and certainly didn't wish to discuss the matter at this time.

But Stefan seemed to have noticed he'd struck a nerve, and decided to hit it harder.

"Ya know… if yer that interested… I could arrange something for ya. What d'ya say? A li'l night of passion? How can ya say no to a pretty thing like that?"

Erik wasn't sure what infuriated him most, the assumption that he could be so base and vile as to pay a women to… do _that_, or the underlying implication that this was the only way he could ever hope to gain physical contact with a woman on a more… intimate level. Erik had conditioned himself throughout life to be numb to such things… to view physical closeness and friendship as a trivial thing. He had become quite good at it… being numb and emotionless.

But then again, it's much harder to forget you are in a cage when someone keeps jabbing you with a stick through the bars.

He should know.

"I was under the impression that she was not in that line of work," he grated out between clenched teeth.

Stefan grinned. "I'll bet we could convince her to give it a go. She just needs the right leverage." He chuckled quietly, and Erik knew instantly what he meant. Stefan was just the sort of man who would do such a thing… force a girl into prostitution simply because it might bring in more money, and perhaps a little personal enjoyment. The thought made him sick… to abuse that girl in such a way, to take advantage of her circumstances… even if it meant…

He stopped himself from thinking any further. It did not do him any good to indulge certain instincts. That was denied to someone such as himself. He pushed the subject aside and focused instead on the one thing he could be blunt and unemotional about.

"Do you have a business proposition for me or not?"

Apparently Stefan did, and, as usual, they kept the matter brief. But Stefan still had the time to lean in, while Erik was making sure his 'deposit' was the correct amount, and say: "If ya want… ya can have the girl instead of the other half." He grinned horribly. "She's _untouched_, ya know."

People in the room could practically feel the temperature drop, and turned to watch as Erik stood and said, icily: "I'll be back for the rest of the money."

He left, relieved to be away from those appalling things that would barely pass for men. He shook off his anger after a few strides, but found himself left with the same feel of misgiving that had plagued him the previous night. He didn't immediately head for the sewers, instead choosing to walk in the fresh air. It was fine to do so now, in the night, with the moon hidden by clouds. The flickering lamps in the street were eerily beautiful, and made the slums seem much less of a decaying hell-hole. Usually it was enough to make him feel calm, inspire him even, but tonight it gave no ease to his unfocused thoughts.

He was so distracted by his surroundings he almost missed the huddled figure, shivering in a doorway. But she caught his eye and, though he had only seen her twice, he recognised the long blonde tresses that fell around her slight yet elegant shoulders.

_She should not be out here alone_, a little voice in his head spoke.

Her body was trembling all over, and he could hear the soft sound of her crying from where he stood. He couldn't help but remember that he had, in part, been the cause of it.

_She could get hurt…_

He looked at her fair skin, lit by the flickering lamps… it looked so warm, even with the chill of the night air closing around it.

_There are so many dangers on the streets at night…_

He smiled bitterly behind the mask.

_Yes_, he answered the voice, _and I'm one of them.

* * *

_

**The Slums – Night**

Christine shivered as her crying began to subside and the cold breeze began to seep into her skin. She instinctively huddled into a tight little ball, rubbing her arms and keeping her face buried in her knees. She was not sure whether she wanted to return to the tavern tonight. She didn't know if she could face Meg… or Mama.

"Miss?"

The voice jarred her right through to her bones, and her head snapped up to see the masked man from before standing over her, just a few feet away, his head tilted slightly to the side. On any other night, in any other frame of mind, Christine might have simply jumped up and run away as fast as she could. But her mixture of anger and misery emboldened her and she found herself saying, with a great deal of bitterness in her voice:

"What do you want now?"

She could tell he was taken aback by her tone, and when he didn't reply she went on, with more vehemence than before.

"Did you want to hurl another insult at me? Did you think of some other brilliant way to kick me while I'm down?" She pulled herself up to her feet, so she was at least more at his level, even though he was well over six foot and she was barely five and a half. "Well?" she snapped. "I'm waiting for it!"

To her surprise, the man did not insult her. For a moment he merely looked at her, his burning yellow eyes exhibiting a strange interest that she couldn't understand.

"So, you're not always the shrinking violet."

This unusual comment caught her off-guard and shook her sudden boldness. Her forehead creased and she had to force herself not to take a step away from him. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded, though her voice faltered as she spoke.

"You have more spirit than I first thought," the man said, and Christine had the distinct impression that, behind the mask, he was smiling.

"Should I feel flattered?" she shot back, mockingly.

"Miss, you may feel whatever you wish about it."

Christine stared at him. Was this man playing games with her? With her mind? If he was… she certainly didn't appreciate it.

There was a commotion down the street, and he briefly turned his head to see, but she did not, taking the brief opportunity to examine him in the street-light. Apart from his height, he was also quite slender, though obviously this did not detract from his strength. His hood had fallen back to expose his hair, which was long and black, tied at the base of his neck. His clothes were black from head to toe. He wore a long coat with a tight collar that he had buttoned all the way to the neck. She could see some dark cloth which had been wrapped tight at his thin throat. Elegant black gloves covered hands that, when she looked, were long and thin.

Were it not for the mask, Christine would have thought of him as a young nobleman.

She almost laughed… she wasn't going to make that mistake again.

The man turned abruptly and caught her staring before Christine had a chance to lower her eyes. Blushing furiously, she felt the atmosphere around them thicken just a little. Desperate to alleviate her embarrassment, she risked asking a question.

"Who are you?"

She realised too late that she hadn't phrased the question in a very polite way, but the masked man didn't appear to take offence.

"By that would you mean my name, or my profession?"

Was he _teasing_ her now? "Both," she said as sternly as she could, though it was hard with those yellow eyes watching her.

"My name… is Erik. And my profession…" he paused. "It need not concern you."

_Well it certainly does now,_ Christine thought to herself. If this man felt it necessary to keep his profession a secret from her, not to mention his identity, she thought as her gaze fell on the black mask… then she didn't like to imagine what awful thing he might do to make his living. Her mind swam with countless possibilities. Was she standing opposite a murderer? She shuddered at the very thought.

"And I already know your name… and your profession, of course."

She felt herself blushing again. Her name he must have overheard in the tavern… but of course he had first-hand experience of her profession. She felt her anger and shame seethe within her, and resorted to merely repeating her bitter question from before, hoping her would leave her alone.

"What do you want?"

There was a pause, and when Christine risked glancing up she saw a strange look in his yellow eyes. Somehow, she knew he was struggling to say whatever it was he wanted, or needed to say.

"I would… like…" he began slowly, but he paused and then appeared to give up on whatever it was he had been trying to say. "I did not intend for you to be shown up like that," he continued after a pause. "If I had known about your situation… I would not have confronted you publicly."

Was that meant to be some kind of apology? Well, she certainly deserved it after that humiliating experience, although she privately admitted she hadn't been expecting one. "Well," Christine said testily, "it just goes to show you shouldn't judge people you know nothing about."

"I suppose not," the masked man went on, and something about the quiet, reflective way he spoke those words put Christine on edge, as if she had, without realising, said something much more profound than she had really intended.

"Will you allow me to escort you home?" he asked suddenly. "To make amends for my earlier behaviour."

Taken aback once more, Christine found herself getting flustered. His voice, now that he was speaking calmly and softly, was so different from before – soothing and eerily beautiful. But it did not quite rob her of reason and she shook her head.

"That won't be necessary, but thank you."

"Are you quite sure? There are plenty of reasons why a young lady should not walk these streets alone at night."

"I would have thought _you_ were one of them," Christine said before she could stop herself. Her hand flew to her mouth as she saw the man's body stiffen. Then, abruptly, he seemed to calm himself. He even laughed, though somewhat cynically, and stared at her intently.

"Clever girl… much cleverer than Stefan gives you credit for."

There was a pause, filled with tension as they both appeared to be waiting for something, some indication of what to do next. Christine was starting to wonder if they would stand there all night, in this cold, but she shivered and that, at least, seemed to prompt a reaction from the masked man.

"You must go home one way or the other, before you catch a chill."

His voice had an edge to it again. Obviously she had annoyed him withher last comment because at that moment he turned and walked away, vanishing down some dark alleyway.

Christine watched him go warily, waiting a few moments before she began to move off down the street in the direction of the Dancing Herald. When she was certain he had gone, and that he was not watching her from the alley, she turned and ran as fast as she could all the way back to the tavern

* * *

**Outside the Dancing Herald – Night**

Erik watched her from the alley. Obviously she was afraid of being followed, because she tried to look for him before finally running away down the street. Once she had disappeared from sight, he withdrew quietly into the backstreets of the slums, deciding it was best he fulfilled his contract, then return home. He had, in his own mind, repaid a debt… eased his conscience, even just a little.

Again, he was struck by why he should feel the need to repay the girl anything… He had offered to be her escort, of all things! Why he would associate himself with her, even to the smallest degree. He didn't like to associate with _anyone_. Why would he want anything to do with a… a snivelling pickpocket _brat_?

He had even told her his name! His _real_ name. God only knew what had possessed him to do that.

Shaking his head, he tried to control his thoughts, telling himself he no longer needed to worry about such things. As far as he was concerned, the matter was closed. Even if he had experienced any emotion towards the girl (which, he told himself was ridiculous) he would seal it away in his mind and never think of it again. He was not going to involve himself with her anymore. Such things led to a different kind of feeling, the kind he had not allowed himself to know in a long time. Those kinds of emotion made him feel weak and foolish and he hated that. Attachments were for ordinary men, not the likes of him. He had long ago decided to sever himself from humanity on any emotional level, to spare himself further pain.

That, he reasoned, was no doubt why he had decided to confront the girl in the Hanging Judge… to reassert his cold, heartless personality.

He turned to gaze back over his shoulder, still hearing, at the back of his mind, the soft ringing of the girl's quiet, desperately-controlled sobbing, and realised just how severely that plan had back-fired.

He tried to put a stopper in his thoughts and, feeling that restless frustration again, strode off into the night, focusing on the job in hand. Some unfortunate was about to come face to face with the city's Angel of Death.

And this angel was in no mood to bestow mercy.

* * *

A/N: I have a bad feeling it's going to become more and more difficult to write Erik's character. It's hard to get the right balance between his coldness and his interest in Christine... so please tell me if you think it's working and it's believable so I can make any necessary changes.

So, until next time!


	5. A New Voice

Once again... thank you for all the lovely reviews. Hopefully I can keep the writing standard up... I've got a good feeling about it, just make sure to let me know if you think I'm going wrong anywhere.

So... on with the next chapter!

* * *

Chapter 4

**The Dancing Herald – Late Afternoon**

"Here… drink it all down."

Christine pressed the little vial of medicine into her Mama Valerius' hand and slowly guided it to her lips, tilted it back steadily. She was careful not to spill even a single drop, and was relieved to see the lady's face relax a little at the thought of being relieved of some of her pain.

"Thank you, little one," she said, taking a sip from the cup of water Christine had picked up next. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Christine smiled, though a little worriedly. She didn't mention that, when she had gone to the apothecary earlier that day, the money she had made last week (added to her earnings this week) had barely been enough to pay for that tiny vial as well as what she had to pay to stay at the tavern. She worried that she would be able to provide the medicine less and less frequently… until the day came when…

"Don't be sad, Christine."

She raised her head, frowning.

"I might not be able to see… but I can tell when you're feeling down," the old lady said with a smile. She reached out a wrinkled hand and touched the girl on the cheek. "You're a good girl, Christine. You do more than you need to."

How Christine wished she could believe that… that she was still the 'good girl' she had been before coming to this wretched city. Hot tears threatened but she held them back and forced herself to smile. Leaning forward, she kissed the lady on the cheek.

"I love you, Mama."

"And I love you. You take care now."

Christine smiled weakly, but the expression faded as she made her way downstairs slowly to begin her evening's work. She was glad she had something to do tonight. Working was better than sitting alone with her thoughts, confronting the truth that, no matter how much she earned and how much medicine she poured down that frail woman's throat, she was one day going to die. When that day finally came, Christine wasn't certain what she would do. Mama Valerius had been the only one who really kept her going after her father died… and with her gone, her life would just become even more shameful, knowing that she was in an inescapable situation, but without any noble cause to try and justify it.

Then she really would be as despicable as that masked man… that _Erik_… had accused her of being.

It had been a little over a week since the night he had confronted her. She had not seen him despite going back to the Hanging Judge once to take in her earnings and collect her small percentage from Stefan. But, to her surprise, she found him constantly haunting her thoughts.

Mostly it was his rather ruthless comments about her lifestyle that she would hear echoing in her head… leaving her with the frightening, unbearable thought that her father would have thought something very similar. But, every now and then, she would hear his awkward sympathy too, which she couldn't help believing was an attempt at an apology of sorts. She sensed that it was not in his character to apologise or offer sympathy for anything, but still he had. No one at the Hanging Judge had ever shown her even an ounce of compassion. She couldn't help but respect him a little… for giving her that much.

And the sound of his voice… the soft, unearthlybeauty of it…

Shaking her head, she resolved to block it from her mind. She concentrated instead on her everyday duties and began to carve some meat on the kitchen table, listening to the sound of the tavern filling up with clients. No doubt they were waiting for Meg to come out and perform. As the minutes went by, they grew more restless, but Meg still had not shown herself. When Christine risked peeking her head through to the front, she saw that the stage was empty, and Meg was in deep discussion with the tapster and a young man.

Where was the minstrel?

"Christine!" Meg said, spotting her. She began to drag the two men over.

Christine, sensing trouble at hand, retreated into the kitchen to pretend that nothing was wrong, but Meg rushed in and seized her arms.

"Oh, Christine… we need your help!"

The look on her face told Christine that this was serious. She looked over to the tapster, who looked anxious as well.

"Apparently," here he glared at the young man, "our regular minstrel has come down with a rather nasty fever. He sent us a messenger with his guitar… it's a pity he didn't send a replacement."

"But Christine can do it!" Meg insisted, turning to her friend for conformation. "That's right, isn't it? You told me you used to sing… and that you could play a little."

Christine's mouth fell open. She looked from Meg, to the tapster, to the guitar that was now being held out to her. After recovering from the initial shock, she raised her hands and shook her head.

"Oh no… no, no… I couldn't!"

"Of course you can!"

"I can't! I haven't played for so long and… I only know a few songs."

"Believe me," the tapster told her, "as long as you can play _something_ and make it recognisable… you'll do fine. And I'm not about to go out there and tell those people that there'll be no dance tonight because our musician is ill and our replacement is having an attack of modesty!"

Christine winced, feeling his anger and rising panic. The guitar was placed in her reluctant hands and, feeling them all watching her, she ran her hands over the wooden frame, the strings and the slender neck. Finally she adjusted her position and, arranging her fingers carefully on the frets, plucked a note.

It sounded flat and terrible.

"I can't…" she said again, desperately, trying to pass the instrument back to the tapster.

But Meg pushed it back towards her. "Come on, Christine… you and me! We'd make a great pair on stage. Please? Your Mama told me you have a lovely voice. Do it for me!"

She hesitated, and now the tapster spoke.

"Christine, if you're not going to do it for your friend… will you do it for the pay?"

She looked up at him, disbelieving.

"I'll give you the same pay… regardless of what happens. Just go out there and do as well as you can." He turned to listen to the crowd in the tavern. "We're guaranteed some trouble if you don't do it… so at least try."

Biting her lip, Christine looked down at the instrument in her hands. It was much larger than her father's mandolin, but it had most of the same basic principles. Frowning in concentration, she arranged her fingers and plucked a chord. This time, she got it right. She felt herself give in a little.

"Don't make me beg," the tapster said.

She laughed slightly at that. "I won't… but I can't promise I'll be good."

The man breathed a sigh of relief. Meg clapped her hands in delight.

"Wonderful!" And without any further hesitation, she grabbed Christine by the wrist and the poor girl found herself dragged out into the parlour and towards the stage, guitar in hand. As she and Meg pushed their way between the tables, the crowd subsided a little, and the shouts of anger became catcalls, not much better than those of the men at the Hanging Judge.

"See? They like you already," Meg whispered in her ear as they stepped onstage.

Christine smiled weakly and then sat down nervously on the stool set out for her. With a rush of horror, she realised she should have tuned up a little better before coming on, though she really hadn't been given the opportunity. Chewing her lip, she plucked a string to check the sound. There was a jeer from the audience, and laughter. Concentrating and trying desperately to ignore them, she continued to check the notes and finally strummed a few chords. Surprisingly, she found her fingers plucking at the strings as if she had never stopped playing. It was all coming back to her, although a little slowly.

Maybe she could do this after all.

"Christine," came Meg's urgent whisper. She looked up. "What song?" she mouthed.

Thinking quickly, Christine selected an old song her father used to play before they had come to the city… when they were living by the sea. It was a well-known sailor's tune and, although it was not really suitable here, at least both people here might know it, and it had a tune Meg could dance to.

"Song of the Sea," she whispered back. Meg nodded, and took a position, waiting for the music to begin. Taking a deep breath, Christine strummed the opening chords, and felt another stab of panic when she wondered how her voice would sound after so long.

_Too late to worry about that now…_

She opened her mouth and, although she didn't take a deep enough breath, at least words came out.

_O, watch my ship go sailing by, _

_She leaves this shore at last, to be free. _

_We have set our course for a distant land, _

_And sail to cross over the deepest sea. _

_Let waves dance high, _

_Let wild storms blow, _

_Sing songs of the sea, to guide our ship, _

_Send prayers to the gods of the water below, below, below, _

_To the gods of the water below. _

After the chorus there was a break in the singing, where she just played gently on the guitar while Meg danced, and as Christine grew a little more aware, she was surprised to discover that, contrary to their usual behaviour, nearly every person in the tavern had fallen quiet. She caught Meg's eye when she twirled slowly, and the black-haired girl winked encouragingly.

Were they really listening to her with such profound intensity? Were some of them really leaning forward in their seats to hear her better?

She fumbled a note, almost breaking the spell, but recovered quickly and took up the song again with her voice, sinking deep into the music. It was so familiar, like the days when her father was still alive. It was as though she could hear the waves lapping at the shore… the sound of childish laughter…

As the song finished, Christine felt the sting of tears in her eyes, but she soon forgot them amidst the applause from the tavern patrons. Some of them were even standing! Meg smiled down at her and dragged her to her feet to curtsy for them.

"I knew you could do it" whispered Meg out of the corner of her mouth.

She could only laugh breathlessly in response, and then found herself pushed back onto her stool.

"Are you ready to give them another song?" Meg asked with a sly wink.

Feeling the smile spread wide across her face, Christine settled the guitar in her lap and nodded.

Silence had already fallen as she plucked the first chord.

* * *

**Outside the Dancing Herald**

One hand pressed against the wall to steady himself, Erik listened in open-mouthed astonishment to the voice that he could hear faintly from the alleyway outside the tavern. He had heard nothing like it before… such an exquisite, clear… almost prefect instrument of sound.

It sounded… somehow familiar.

But it couldn't be…

He crept inside through the kitchen, which was empty now. No doubt everyone was out in the parlour, watching the show. He stood near the door and, careful to remain unseen, he looked through the beaded curtain. Over the silhouette of the audience seated at their tables, he saw a young, black-haired girl dancing on the stage. But it was not her voice he heard, and he lost interest in her immediately.

But as she moved to one side of the stage, he saw a familiar, blonde-haired girl seatedon a stool nearer the back,bent over a guitar. She raised her head, and from her mouth came that sweet, clear sound.

"Christine…"

She was smiling softly as she sang, her eyes closed except for when she looked down at the fingers that strummed the guitar. Occasionally she fumbled a chord, but he paid little attention to this, caring only about that voice andthe delicate notes that emerged fromthe girl'sthroat.

He had come here today because… well, he wasn't certain. He told himself continuously that it was _not_ to see her, although he had no other reason for being in this place. But after an entire week of feeling restless, plagued by images of her and the words she had spoken to him that night… he had felt compelled to come. Perhaps to remind himself that she was not worth all this foolish behaviour. That she was just a foolish little girl he should simply forget.

And now this…

He remained, listening, throughout the entire performance, not caring if someone should walk in and catch him there. In his mind he went through every aspect of that voice, analysing every note and every tone. Yes, it was beautiful… but it lacked a certain quality. Clearly she had not been trained, although her natural ability was more than enough to please this audience.

If trained, however… she could please far more. A voice like that, with the right guidance, could charm anyone and anything.

Even him.

He heard the sound of applause, and a few disappointed cries that told him the performance must be over. As he watched, Christine and the other girl left the stage and began to head in the direction of the kitchen. Hastily, he withdrew into the alleyway once more, but left the door open a little way so he could hear the conversation inside.

"Oh Christine, you were wonderful!" said one breathless voice. "Why didn't you say you could sing like that?"

"I don't know," laughed Christine's voice. God… even her laughter sounded musical now. In fact her voice, its tone… everything about it sounded different to him… clearer… as though he were hearing it properly for the first time.

"I've never heard anything like it before. So beautiful…You should ask if you can perform more often... they all loved you!"

"Do you think so?"

"Of course!" There was a pause, and then Erik heard a sharp intake of breath. "Oh Christine, do you realise what you could do?"

"No, what?"

"You should audition for the Opera!"

Erik, leaning against the wall, frowned behind the mask. The girl was obviously referring to the Opera Populaire. It was located in the Upper City… the richest and most glamorous part of the metropolis. Every musician dreamed of going there to perform… it was exclusive to the most talented and well-known artists in the world. He had been there many times… not to perform himself, of course… merely to soak in the beauty of the place and the music created within those walls.

But for Christine to go there…

It was not that he thought it would be impossible for her to get into the company, even just the smallest part in the chorus. In fact, after hearing her, he had no doubt she would have been capable of becoming a great star of the company. But she certainly was not ready for such a thing. The managers there were not foolish and, although they might recognise her potential, they would not exactly be willing to use their own money to unleash it. They had enough talent on their hands to make good use of. Besides which… they would not even think twice about taking on an unkempt tavern girl in a torn dress with no money and no standing in the world.

She would have to prove to them that she was good enough to look past such things, and without training that would be impossible.

"I don't think so Meg," he heard Christine reply, though he could tell she was intrigued by the suggestion.

"You'll never know if you don't try!" the girl called Meg pointed out. "Why don't you go tomorrow? What harm could it do?"

"But they would never…" she began.

"You're going up there… even if I have to drag you there myself! Just think about it, Christine! This could be your way out of this mess with Stefan."

So, this girl knew about Christine's situation then? Clearly, however, she didn't know enough to realise that Stefan was not about to let anyone in his employ go without a fight. In fact, Christine being employed at the Opera would have given him more reason to keep her on a tight leash, since it would bring him more money and, quite possibly, some very powerful connections, if she were to do well.

Christine did not seem to completely realise this either, because he heard a new hopefulness in her voice when she next spoke.

"I suppose it could…" she said wistfully.

"Of course it will. You can go tomorrow."

"But what if they're not holding auditions tomorrow?"

"What does that matter?" came the other's voice, more distant now, as if she were leaving the room. He heard her feet on the stairs. "Just go into the office and ask if they'll let you sing for them. Be forthright… they'll admire you for that."

_Or think her insolent_, Erik thought to himself.

"Meg!" Christine called out to her friend, but there was no reply. She was alone once again. Erik heard her sigh dreamily and knew that she was imagining tomorrow, going to the Opera and stunning the managers there.

He spoke before he could stop himself.

"I would advise against it."

* * *

**The Dancing Herald**

Christine gasped when she heard the voice, and recognised it instantly, though what he was doing here she did not like to imagine. Turning in the direction of the sound, she pushed open the door and stepped out into the dimly lit alleyway beyond, glancing around for a sign of the mysterious 'Erik' and frowning when she could not see him.

"You would be making a mistake."

She jumped at his voice again, and looked behind her to see him leaning in the shadows, looking the same as always… dark and imposing, with his yellow eyes staring directly at her from the darkness.

In spite of herself, she felt a little annoyed by his words. "And why is that?" She asked.

"You will be turned away… I assure you."

His words pricked at her, not least because he sounded so confident in his opinion, and she responded tartly: "Oh really? And I suppose you would know all about such things."

"I do," he said plainly, angering her further was his complete lack of modesty.

"Well, I do apologise if my voice fails to live up to your high standards," she snapped. She was about to turn and run back inside, feeling injured by his words, when he stepped between her and the door, just as he had done at the Hanging Judge that night. She had to stop quickly before she collided with him and stiffened at the thought of what was to come. No doubt he was going to insult her again now…

"It was not my intention to belittle you… or your obvious talent."

She raised her head sharply, thrown off-guard by his words. What had he said? Her _obvious talent_?

"I merely point out," he went on calmly, "that, as I am sure you yourself are aware, your voice lacks solid professional training. They will see this… and you will be dismissed without a second thought."

Again, Christine found his remarks cutting her deeply, though she couldn't imagine why it mattered so much what this man thought. She felt her defiance boiling up, pushing aside the more reasonable part of her that said he might have a point.

"And why should I listen to what you have to say about it?" she retorted.

Her sharp replies seemed to be wearing his patience down, because she saw him tense up slightly, and when he spoke there was an edge to his voice.

"I suppose you don't… so long as you are prepared to deal with the consequences."

"Well, I'll find out for myself what those consequences are, thank you very much."

And with that, she brushed past him and went back inside, inwardly fuming at the audacity of that man. Who was he to give her advice on what she should and should not do? It was her life, she could do as she pleased… _without_ the guidance of strange, masked men lurking in dark corners.

She went up the stairs, her feet thumping heavily against the wood in an obvious display of annoyance. Before entering Mama's room she composed herself, trying not to dwell on her anger but think about her hopes for tomorrow, and the triumph not only of her performance today but of proving that arrogant man wrong.

It worked, and she opened the door, rushing to the woman's bedside with her smile plastered all over her face.

"Mama… did you hear me?" she asked excitedly.

The old woman clasped her hands together. "Oh, I knew that was your voice, Christine. It was so lovely to hear it again… as beautiful as ever."

Christine felt herself blush, though her smile remained a little proud at the praise she received, uttering a self-satisfied 'hah!' in her head to the absent masked man. She looked down at Mama, and was delighted to see the happy expression onthe dear lady'sface, and how she did not look so pale as she had done this morning.

She took a deep breath.

"And that's not all, Mama… guess what I'm going to do!"

* * *

A/N: "Song of the Sea" is actually an original creation by me... one of the drawbacks of being in an alternate reality is that I can't exactly take the lyrics of a song and stick them in there. Well, I could... but it would be cheating, and I didn't want to do that. So I had a look at some old folk songs about sailors and the sea, and wrote one of my own based on what I read. I don't consider myself much of a poet but... it could have been worse, hehe.

Hope you enjoyed. See you all next time!


	6. Paupers and Patrons

Hello everyone! Welcome back again. I'm glad you all enjoyed the last chapter, thanks for all the lovely reviews... things are starting to get more interesting now. So keep reading! hehe. Enjoy the next chapter.

* * *

Chapter 5

**The Upper City – Afternoon**

Two days later, after a morning of work and then having a good clean up to make herself more presentable, Christine was finally making her way through the Upper City streets to find the Opera Populaire.

She couldn't help being awed by everything she saw. Somewhere along the way the ground beneath her feet had changed from dirty stone to almost spotless cobbles. It had rained during the night, and now they shone in the afternoon light. Over them, beautiful carriages ran, pulled by magnificent horses, well groomed and dressed in fine harnesses … a far cry from the mangy creatures she usually saw in the slums. As she walked she passed elegant tea-houses, and had to resist the urge to press her face to the glass like a little child to peer in at the people inside.

And what fine people they seemed… so richly dressed and well cared for. Despite her efforts to tidy up, Christine had never felt more of a street girl. She had borrowed a dress that was quite plain but at least not as torn and frayed as her other one, from Meg. But she still stood out. She might as well have had POOR branded into her forehead. That was certainly the impression she was given from the nobility that passed her. If she was not given disgusted, snobbish looks, she was treated like she didn't exist. To everyone here, she was a stain on the pavement that shouldn't be there. So they acted like this was the case.

It shook her nerves, but she kept going. She was determined to prove that she was worth something.

She looked at the piece of parchment in her hand. Meg had given her some street names to help her find her way, but Christine's was useless with directions, especially in a place that was so unfamiliar.

She mumbled the names under her breath to help herself concentrate.

"Marquess Street…"

She finally found it, and headed down… found the next name on the list and continued. She turned what she hoped was the final corner, looked up and gasped.

The Opera House stood, as magnificent and beautiful as any palace any king could ever have owned. Christine, having lived all this time in the slums, had never imagined something so wonderful could be in the same city. The grey stone stretched high up, set all over with proud gargoyles and sweet angels. Above the marble columns that stood at the front was a tableau of young women and men, dressed in robes and carrying instruments.

Years ago, her father and spun tales of supernatural beings… who inspired artists across the world in their chosen craft. Music, poetry, art… everything. They appeared in dreams, whispered into your ear… and your life would never be the same once you heard their voices.

The scene was clearly a representation of these beings, and she found herself smiling. It was as if she were meant to be here… guided to a place where angels would watch over her.

Making her way up the stone steps, she found the ground beyond the pillars was an elegant mosaic. Distracted, she spent several minutes admiring it, not caring that more than one or two people who passed by were giving her suspicious looks.

She was delighted when she entered the building through the solid oak double-doors and saw the main foyer. A grand staircase, carpeted in rich red fabric, stretched up, no doubt leading to the theatre's balcony seats. Around the hall, paintings hung of beautiful women and handsome men. A little plaque was set under each one, and the people turned out to be either famous patrons of the Opera, or actual artists who had made their names here.

There was the sound of a door opening somewhere above, and a chorus of giggles. Looking up to the balcony at the far end, she saw a group of young girls, perhaps a few years younger than her, rushed out, clad in white ballet costumes. Perhaps they were on their way to rehearsals.

"May I help you?"

Surprised at the sound of the voice behind her, Christine turned to see a middle-aged, portly gentleman with a well-trimmed moustache, dressed in a smart red uniform. He had appeared from behind a wooden desk that she had failed to see upon entering and she assumed he must be an attendant or watchman of some kind.

Blushing a little, and feeling her nerves quaver, she cleared her throat. "I… I'm looking for the manager's office? Could you help me, please?"

"Do you have an appointment?" he asked, not being very subtle as he looked her up and down.

"N-no."

"Hmmm…" he seemed to consider this for a moment. "Well… I can show you. But without an appointment, they might not see you."

Christine felt her hopes droop a little. She had failed to take this into account. Maybe she would be lucky.

"Follow me."

He led her up the grand staircase and then along the left balcony. Christine watched as he stopped by a small door and beckoned her through into a smaller but beautifully decorated corridor. Oil lamps hung from the walls, sending out a warm, flickering light on the dark wooden panels. They passed several rooms that Christine did not know the use for, until they came to a door with a front made out of frosted glass, on which the words "Managing Directors: Mr Firmin & Mr André". The attendant left her there, alone and a little ill at ease. Swallowing, she leaned close to the door and heard voices coming from inside, engaged in some deep debate.

She waited until there was a pause in the conversation and then rapped soundly on the glass. There was a brief silence, and then a voice said, sternly: "Come!"

Trying to control her shaking, she opened the door and stepped inside. The two men were leaning over a large oak desk, apparently going over some papers. They were looking at her suspiciously, their mouths set in thin lines under their small, bristly moustaches. They were middle-aged... one was quite well-built and tall. The other was thinner, but shorter too, with slightly darker hair.

"May we help you?" said the taller one, looking less than pleased at her interruption.

_Be charming_, Meg had told her.

"I'm very sorry for disturbing you… I know how busy you gentlemen must be. My name is Christine Daae."

She kept her tone cheerful, but not overly so, and very polite and respectful. It seemed to work to some degree because the shorter man straightened up and nodded.

"Well, Miss Daae… my name is Mr Andre… this is Mr Firmin. What can we do for you?"

Taking a deep breath, Christine wondered about the best way to phrase her request.

"I… I understand that this is not the usual way of going about this sort of thing," she said, smiling weakly, "but I was hoping I might… audition for your company?"

In her worst imaginings, they had laughed outright at the suggestion. But somehow, the stony silence with which they listened was even worse. The silence begged to be filled, but she could think of nothing to say that wouldn't make her sound like a fool. Behind her back, her fingers twisted together and she tried not to chew her lower lip from nervousness.

"You want to audition for our company?" said Andre very slowly, as if he thought she was stupid. She nodded slowly in reply, and he gave a laugh that was not really a laugh, more a sigh. "Young lady… this is the most famous opera house in the city and, dare I say it, the world. We are not in the habit of taking on just anyone."

"I… I can sing," Christine stammered. "If you – "

"And who exactly were you trained by?"

That question hit like a punch to the gut, especially when she did not have an answer. Her silence, however, and the way the colour vanished from her cheeks, told the two managers what they needed to know.

"Well that settles it then," Firmin said, turning his attention back to the papers on the desk. Christine could all but feel herself becoming invisible to him.

"Miss Daae… we do not waste our time with warbling street-girls who think they have talent just because some charitable person dropped a penny at their feet."

_That_ hurt, and Christine felt a lump rising in her throat. She felt like she should say something in her defence but, before she had the chance she was given a blunt "good day" and asked to leave, as they were expecting an important patron.

_Do not cry_, she told her self. _Do **not** cry… not here_.

She turned and left. As soon as the office door shut behind her she broke into a run, feeling her eyes stinging. She was desperate to leave the building, feeling it torment her as if the walls were mocking her foolishness in bothering to come here. She was so anxious to escape she did not notice when a shape appeared around the corner of the corridor. She collided with it, but she barely acknowledged the person, whoever they were, and kept right on going. Out in the streets, she tried to seek some refuge to hide her humiliation.

Ducking into an alley, she leant against the wall and cried miserably.

_He was right_, was all she could think. _He was right about everything.

* * *

_

**The Opera House – Afternoon**

Of all things when coming here, he had not expected to be almost run down by a distraught but beautiful girl. Recovering quickly, the Viscount Raoul de Chagney watched her disappear down the corridor, wondering what could possibly have happened to make her so upset.

As if he needed to ask. He knew the managers here… they could be ruthless when it came to turning people away. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the girl.

Still… there was something oddly familiar about her. He had only briefly seen her face, clearly suppressing distressed tears, but he was certain he had encountered it before. Perhaps she had worked for the company and had just been dismissed. He came to the opera regularly, his family were one of the companies most esteemed patrons. So chances are he would have seen her in the chorus, or perhaps simply wandering through the building. He would have to ask… he knew it would prey on his mind if he didn't.

He knocked on the manager's door and, without waiting for permission, walked in. He caught their looks of annoyance before they recognised him and became instantly friendly and delighted by his presence.

"Ah, Viscount, what a pleasure."

"Good afternoon to you gentlemen," Raoul said. "And how is business?"

Andre gave a small shrug. "Oh well… you know how these artistic people are – dramatic on and off the stage."

"Yes, indeed.I just witnessed a rather unhappy display on my way here. Have you gentlemenbeen torturing the chorus girls again?"

The two managers exchanged frowns. "I'm sorry?"

"I was almost knocked down by a young girl on her way from your office. She looked very upset."

"Oh… some street girl," Firmin said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm very sorry if she offended you."

"Not at all. In fact I was quite surprised… I believe I may have seen her before. But since she isn't a part of the company I can't have seen her around the opera. Did you happen to remember her name?"

The managers looked at each other. No doubt they had conveniently forgotten her name, as they did with most other young ladies they dismissed from their office. He watched as they frowned and wracked their brains to try and remember it.

"Ahh… Christine… something or other. Day? Dee?"

Raoul's curiosity intensified at the name 'Christine', and he found himself leaning forward in his chair. "Daae, by any chance?"

"Yes, I believe so," Firmin said, nodding. Then he paled slightly. "Then you do know her?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Or rather I did," Raoul said, with a small smile.

So Christine was here, in the city somewhere. It had been a long time since he had last seen her but, as he recalled the face of the young woman he had seen just now, he knew instantly that it must be her. Obviously she hadn't recognised him… perhaps she had been too overwrought. It wouldn't surprise him… he remembered how important singing was to her… and apparently she had just been very cruelly dismissed.

He turned his attention back to the managers, amused to see that they had suddenly become very flustered, no doubt because they had just turned away an acquaintance of one of their biggest patrons.

"Well," Andre said, in an attempt to justify their actions, "apparently she was untrained and… well, you know how these things go. We cannot be expected to take on any girl who wanders into the establishment. And surely she does not expect us to pay for tutelage… we simply cannot do such a thing."

"Of course you can't," Raoul agreed, nodding slowly.

_They can't,_ he thought to himself with a grin, _but I can.

* * *

_

**The Slums – Evening**

Dejected and shamed, Christine finally made her way back to the tavern. She had eventually recovered from her fit of crying, which had now degenerated into a nasty case of hiccups that hurt her chest. She held her breath to try and hold them back, but that only made them hurt more.

What was she going to tell Mama? The dear lady had been so happy to hear that she was going to audition at the opera… how could she go back and tell her she had not even sung a note for them.

_You will be turned away… I assure you._

Christine hiccupped again, and then glared at the ground at her feet. Thinking about that masked man's words… she felt angry. It was as if it were all his fault, even though she knew it wasn't and it was unfair to think so. But she kept hearing his voice and the way he had been so sure of himself.

If he was here now, he would probably have been laughing at her for presuming she could prove him wrong

The Dancing Herald came in sight, but she paused. Maybe she could go around the back and avoid being seen. Right now, she did not feel like divulging the events of her trip to the Upper City. Doubtless she would never have cause to go there again… and in a way she was glad. The thought of all those people… staring and judging her because of her low status…

She had not even touched the door handle before violent hands grabbed her shoulders. Her first instinct was to scream but a hand was clamped over her mouth.

Was it him? _Erik?_

There was a disgusting smell as the person leaned down to her ear. His breath smelt of stale beer and smoke.

"Stefan wants a word with you."

It certainly wasn't Erik. This man's voice was rough and so was his grip. He removed his hand from her mouth, but she didn't need to be told to remain silent… and struggling would have been pointless and, ultimately, a mistake. She was led by the arm, which the man held in a tight, bruising grip, all the way to the Hanging Judge.

As they walked, Christine's mind raced. What had she done now? She had been out the previous night, pick pocketing, but she did not have any of her stash with her. Besides which… she was not required to deliver payment yet. She was always given a few days (a week at most) between each meeting with Stefan in order to make enough to take away a decent percentage.

And she had never been summoned like this before, and her stomach churned at the thought of what might await her.

She was dragged into the stuffy tavern and forced unceremoniously into a chair opposite Stefan, who was not playing poker with his friends this time, but watching her with an expression that clearly said she had done something to upset him. He didn't say anything at first, merely stared at her, as if expecting her to confess her crime… whatever it was.

Finally, when he had obviously had enough of waiting, he spoke. "Well? What ya got to say for yerself?" he asked nastily.

Not knowing what he meant, and not trusting herself to answer correctly, she remained silent.

"I thought ya knew the rules around here."

"I… I do…" she stuttered, growing more anxious every second.

Stefan slammed his palm down on the table. "Don't give me that cow-eyed look, ya conniving bitch. Ya can stop pretending ya know nothing. Someone saw ya doing yer little show the other night."

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in, until Christine remembered that, of course, she had been paid for singing at the Dancing Herald. But surely Stefan didn't expect her to hand over _that_ money… did he?

"Where is it?" he demanded. "Where's the money?"

He did.

"But," Christine protested, "I earned that myself! It didn't come from picking pockets."

"That's not my problem. Yer working for me… _everything_ ya make comes to me. So hand it over."

"But…"

Christine was halted, and her words stuck in her throat at the feel of cold steel against the back of her neck. Her back went rigid and her body broke out in a cold sweat. Stefan did not need to repeat his request this time. With shaking fingers she fumbled with the money-belt at her side and emptied the contents onto the table. She watched in mute horror as he counted it out and then scraped it all into his own pocket. Wide-eyed, she looked at him… unable to contemplate the fact that he would really give her nothing back.

"It's no less than ya deserve," he snarled cruelly. "Learn a lesson about trying to cheat me."

"But I didn't…"Christine pleaded, only to feel the blade pressed harder against her skin. She felt tears coming and whispered under her breath: "What am I supposed to do now?"

Again, she looked at Stefan, as if he could provide the answer. He did, but it was not what she wanted to hear.

"Yer gonna go out tonight… and yer gonna take a little trip to the pleasure district. And yer gonna be providing pleasure for all those lonely men ya find."

Christine thought she would faint. All the blood seemed to have been drained from her body.

The pleasure district… that was not the area's official name, of course, but everyone knew it. That place was where the street whores would wander, waiting to be approached by some man. It was for the more privacy-conscious clients who were wary of entering crowded brothels where they might be recognised. It was one of the worst parts of the slums, and Christine had been careful never to go near it.

But now…

"Please…" she heard herself sob. "Don't make me go there… please."

"Ah, quit snivelling. I don't give a damn about ya morals and high values. Yer out on the street tonight, or yer gonna learn a real harsh lesson… you and that old wench ya look after."

To demonstrate the point, the knife was once again dug into her neck, almost to the point where it broke the skin. Afraid for her life as well as Mama, and not seeing any other choice, Christine nodded, feeling the tears trickle down her cheeks. She was released and pushed roughly onto the street outside. The thug who had thrown her there pointed silently in the direction of the pleasure district, and leered at her. She stood up, but she didn't leave until realising that the thug was still watching her intently, no doubt to make sure she did as instructed.

Fighting against her sobs, Christine began to make her way to the pleasure district, every part of her body and soul as heavy as lead. She wondered if she could beg for a reprieve… a second chance… but she could still feel the pain in her shoulder and knew it was useless.

There really was no way out.

* * *

A/N: Sorry... No Erik in this chapter. I miss him already, lol. Anyway... hopefully we'll see him next time. So until then, bye bye! 


	7. A Dark Saviour

Hey everyone! Thanks so much for all your reviews! I hope I didn't keep you in suspense too long... you know how much I love cliffhangers, hehe.

Okay... first, a note about the last chapter, since someone mentioned they found it a little confusing. Stefan sending Christine off to be a prostitute is not necessarily to do with the money she will hopefullybring in. In this case, it was meant to be more a punishment for trying to (unintentionally) keep money from him. He knows how much she hates the idea... so he forces her into it as a way of re-establishing his power over her. Not a very nice man, but you all knew that anyway, lol. I hope that makes sense to anyone who wasn't sure what was going on... I might rewrite that part later to make it clearer.

Now... on with the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 6

**The Slums – Night**

Erik walked through the slums, hood up, eyes on the lookout, though, for the moment, he was not really looking for anything, or anyone. His pace was quick… a reflection of his impatient mood. In the pocket of his coat, his fingers twitched constantly, twisting around the coil of rope hidden there. Every time someone passed, he had to resist the frustrated urge to garrotte them right in the middle of the dark street, regardless of who saw. Every time he just managed to resist… but it only inflamed his anger further.

Last night, in troubled dreams, Christine's face and voice had continued to prick at his already frayed nerves. In fact, there had been very few moments in the past few days when she had _not_ been in his thoughts. The memory of her voice was all but haunting him. Erik had begun to wish he had just let the girl take the damn watch that night. At least then he could have avoided this whole disastrous situation… this ridiculous attitude that did not make sense to him in the least.

But he couldn't help but wonder about her. The spirited, if ill-advised, way she had stated that she _would_ go to audition at the Opera Populaire… it had both annoyed and impressed him at the same time. He wondered if she had followed through on her reckless declaration… whether she had really gone up to the Opera House. No doubt, if she had, she would be snivelling in some doorway on the streets, hiding her humiliation after being turned away.

Why wouldn't she listen to sensible advice?

He sighed… it was a pity really.

He stopped and felt the sudden urge to punch himself.

A pity? _A pity?_ What was a pity? It was hardly his fault, let alone his concern, if the girl was too idiotic and too obstinate to listen and act reasonably. He could not be held responsible if the girl took his words the wrong way.

He had only been trying to help.

His fists clenched. What was _wrong_ with him recently?

"Excuse me, sir?"

Erik was too busy fuming to notice that he was being addressed by a scruffy, snaggle-toothed little man with a dirty brown hood pulled down to hide his own face. However, Erik did notice when the man reached out and placed a hand on his arm. Already on edge, the unwanted contact prompted a violent reaction from Erik. Whoever the man was, he quickly found himself splayed against the nearest wall, one arm twisted painfully behind his back and his face pressed ruthlessly against the stone.

"That," Erik snarled, "was not a wise move."

The man wheezed. Apparently the wind had been knocked out of him. He struggled to speak, but Erik was in no mood to waste time listening.

"I hope, for your sake, I never see you around here again," Erik went on before hurling the man violently to the ground. He was just about to storm away when the man, somewhat breathlessly, called out:

"You're… the Angel of Death."

That caught his attention and Erik paused. Turning his head to look over his shoulder at the man, he narrowed his eyes warily. "And if I am?"

Struggling to get to his feet, the man coughed as he tried to get his breath back, rubbing his arm and trying to straighten his clothes out. "I have a business proposition for you."

Now Erik turned to face him properly and was interested to see that he recognised the man, whose hood had fallen down in the struggle. He worked for the owner of another brothel some distance from the Hanging Judge. The owner was a well-known rival of Stefan's… they had been at each other's throats for years. Their enmity consisted of frequently stealing employees and clients from each other, having brawls in the taverns and pubs and, just occasionally, trying to get members of the opposing gang killed. This man had obviously been sent to Erik with a commission.

Well… it should provide an interesting distraction at least, Erik thought to himself. Anything that would keep his mind occupied was something of a relief at this time.

"Very well… what can I do for you?"

Coughing again, the man reached into his coat and produced a scrap of paper, upon which was written the name of the intended target. Erik was not surprised to see he recognised the name. It _was_ one of Stefan's gang.

"You'll probably find him in the pleasure district," he heard the man say. "He goes there most nights."

"I see… and what about my pay? Half now… half when the job is done."

"And how'll we know he's dead?"

Erik narrowed his eyes again, and saw the man cringe back a little. "If my word is not enough for you… I will send you some token of proof."

The man went a little pale, and seemed to take the hint, for which Erik was glad. The last time someone had doubted him enough to ask for proof he had grown angry and gone a little over the top with the request. It had only added to his infamy, and very few people asked him for evidence anymore. Quickly saying that this was not necessary, the man produced a few grubby notes. Erik took them out of his hands and, having counted them, stowed them away in a pocket. Without needing to say or do anything more, Erik turned and left, immediately heading for the pleasure district. This was what he needed… a killing. To block out all these distracting thoughts he had been having.

To block out Christine.

He finally reached the edge of that area of the city. Here, the lights were dimmer, to allow the prostitutes and their patrons a little anonymity. He never came here, except on business, disliking the casual way men and women flung themselves around, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He despised them for it, and tried not to make eye contact with anyone as he walked, just sweeping the faces of the people there, looking for the man he was going to kill.

He glanced at one couple, a man accosting a young lady who seemed more than a little reluctant. He was not the man Erik was searching for, and he almost passed by when, as his eyes briefly swept over the profile of the young woman with him, he found himself stopping dead as he realised he knew her.

It was Christine!

* * *

**The Pleasure District**

Once she had worked up the nerve to enter the pleasure district it had not taken long for Christine to find herself being approached by one of the men wandering the decadent streets. Suddenly she had been caught, like a rabbit in a snare… or a weak lamb cornered by a wolf. No doubt the man had noted her trembling, frightened demeanour and put two and two together.

When it came to prostitution in this city, men fell into two categories. Generally, they went after the experienced ones, who could do exactly what they required, no questions asked. Men who only cared about satisfying their primal instincts were more than happy with this arrangement. But, unfortunately, there were also those who prized newcomers to the profession… those who were untouched and pure. Perhaps they took some kind of sick pleasure in robbing a girl of her innocence… tainting them.

The idea made Christine feel ill.

And now, this man was trying to coax her into coming along with him. He was well-dressed and quite well-spoken, but his manner completely belied these things. His smile, she could only describe it as lascivious. She could feel herself shrinking away and kept trying to step around him so she could be on her way. He, however, was determined to take her somewhere, and was offering to pay handsomely for the pleasure.

But the higher the amount he offered, the more frightened Christine felt… and ashamed. She didn't know if she could give in to this… not even for Mama's sake. It was just too much to bear.

"Come on, my dear. I'm being more than generous."

She shook her head hastily, clasping her hands tightly together. "I'm sorry, sir… I… I can't…"

"This is what you do, isn't it?" he said, his face displaying his irritation at her continuing refusal. She could see how close he was to using force and swallowed painfully. "I'm _paying_ you, aren't I?" he went on, making her feel even more ashamed. "It's not for you to pick and choose your clients, so you'd better – "

"Is there some problem?"

Christine jumped as a hand fell upon her shoulder. She couldn't turn her head far enough to see, but the voice was familiar enough.

It was him… Erik.

She watched as the man who had attempted to buy her company took a step back, his face expressing both fear and confusion. She felt much the same… wondering what on earth the masked man was doing here, and why he had chosen to intervene. Her entire body was rigid, every muscle flooded with tension as she stood, trapped between these two men.

Once the man before her recovered from the shock of seeing this strange newcomer, he frowned in annoyance t the interruption.

"Yes… as a matter of fact. I was just having a talk with this charming young lady and – "

"This _charming young lady_ is no longer your concern. I suggest you take your business elsewhere."

Christine was shocked to hear Erik say this. She twisted her head to try and see him… to catch his eye. She wanted to ask what he thought he was doing, though a part of her dreaded the answer. She could feel his long, thin fingers on her shoulder and shivered suddenly and she realised she could feel no warmth through the leather gloves he wore.

The man was taken aback by the tone of Erik's voice, and began to press his suit again, even reaching out to grab Christine's arm, as if he intended to pull her away from Erik… drag her off by force. As concerned as she was about Erik's motivations, he was the lesser of two evils in her mind, and she flinched away from the man, feeling her back accidentally press against Erik's chest. She felt him stiffen, but the contact did not last long, as Erik took a step back and away from her, though his hand remained almost possessively on her shoulder.

He spoke again, and this time it was his voice that made her shiver.

"Leave… _now._"

God, the sound of his voice… she could feel the weight of his words, the unquestionable authority in his tone. Before she had been surprised by its beauty… now it was the menace lurking there which made her quake. How could something so beautiful be so dangerous? There could be no disobeying of that voice, and, as she watched, the man backed away from them and finally turned and ran down the street, vanishing from sight.

The hand left her shoulder, and she was finally able to turn, which she did, slowly and warily. There was Erik, as before, with the black mask covering his face, and his yellow eyes faintly glowing beneath, watching her with his head tilted to one side.

"Well, Christine," he said with cold politeness, addressing her by name for the first time. "I must say I did not expect to see you here, of all places. Did you lose your way?"

She folded her arms around herself defensively, lowering her eyes as she felt the shamed blush colouring her cheeks. She did not relish the prospect of telling him why she was there in the pleasure district, but she was too long in coming up with a convincing lie to tell him. She could practically hear the puzzle pieces slotting together in his brain.

"You are here on business then?"

The sick feeling in her stomach intensified and a bitter lump came to her throat.

"Unwillingly, I presume."

She risked looking up at him and wished, in that moment, that she could know his expression behind the mask. Somehow, she didn't feel like she was being mocked, but neither was she certain he was being sympathetic. He did not seem the type of man who would feel sorry for anyone, and his voice betrayed absolutely nothing of his feelings.

She found herself nodding slowly in answer.

"Might I ask how?"

Oh, god… did she really have to tell him? Why couldn't the ground just open up and swallow her? Did she really have to endure this humiliation… on top of everything else? But she felt his yellow eyes watching her and, gulping down the lump in her throat, she gave in and told him, the words coming out in a rush. "Stefan… he found out about me singing at the tavern. He was angry because I didn't give him the money so… he took it."

"That was rather foolish of you."

She pressed her lips together, not liking his bluntness, even though she knew it was true.

"I wasn't thinking," she admitted quietly. "And then… he sent me here. I… I didn't have any other choice."

There was a silence between the two and Christine shivered as a cold breeze blew down the street and swirled around them. She hugged herself tightly, aware of being watched intently by her unusual companion.

"I will take you somewhere warm."

The statement was devoid of any emotion, and Christine felt the fear that had briefly subsided return, even more potent than before. He was going to take her somewhere? Did he mean that…?

"Come with me." She stared at him, her lips parted in horror. He stared back impassively with those golden eyes. "You really do not have much choice."

How desperately she wished this were not true. She wanted to turn and run back home… forget this awful day had ever happened. But she couldn't. Stefan's threat came storming into her memory, and she bit her lip at the thought of what might happen to her and Mama Valerius if she refused. Once again, she found herself cornered, left with no choice and no way out… except with Erik.

She nodded slowly, and they began to walk, side by side. There was a substantial gap between them, but she could feel his presence beside her and it made her even more nervous than she already felt. They did not speak for some time and, although Christine did not particularly feel like making conversation, the silence was infinitely worse, as it left her to contemplate her situation. Shamed, unbidden thoughts threatened to cloud her mind and bring her to tears, so she spoke… about the only other topic that sprang to mind.

"I suppose you'll be glad to know you were right."

Her voice was laced with bitter anger. At this point, she would rather feel angry than miserable and frightened, so she didn't care that her statement sounded rude. Even though she refused to raise her eyes from the dirty street, she could feel that he had glanced down at her.

"I went to the Opera House this afternoon." She gave a rather embittered smile and a shrug. "You were right… they wouldn't even listen to me sing."

"I did warn you."

Her feeling of acrimony increased dramatically at his words. How could he be so blunt? Surely there was some nicer way he could make his point… without being so gauche about it. Obviously, this Erik was not a man willing to spare a girl's feelings when it came to his opinion of her. Of course, she had learned that the other day.

The fact that he was right only made it worse.

"Yes… and I was too stupid to listen," she admitted, feeling herself descend into mocking self-hatred. "Too determined to prove I was actually worth something. And now…" she looked at her surroundings. "Now I'm even more worthless than ever."

He didn't say anything in reply to this, and, truth be told, she would have appreciated some kind of advice from him, however blunt it was. Having learnt her lesson from last time she would probably listen more carefully now. But he remained silent, though she had the feeling that he was thinking deeply about something. As much as she wanted to know what he was contemplating, she didn't have the courage to ask him. They were quiet again, and reality began to close in, thick and heavy.

"This will do."

She looked at him, and realised he had stopped, and was looking up at an inn they had passed. It was reasonably small and not as prominent as the Hanging Judge, for which Christine supposed she must be grateful. The noise from inside was quiet and subdued but this made it seem all the more ominous as she followed Erik reluctantly inside. She watched silently as he caught the attention of the man who owned the place and handed over money for the room. He turned to her.

"After you."

Christine went on up the stairs, and took advantage of Erik being unable to see her face to let her mask of control slip a little. She heard his footsteps behind her and she wanted desperately to run, hide… but she knew such a thing would be pointless. They reached the room, and Erik unlocked it with the key the landlord had given him. Before allowing her through, he handed her several notes. It was a generous amount, but she felt like it was burning her hand. She would have done anything to be able to hand it back and be allowed to go free.

Opening the door, Erik gestured for her to go inside.

"Does this suit you?" Erik inquired, his voice still emotionless. Christine did not even bother to look around the modest little room. She kept her back to the door and Erik, eyes shut to fight her tears. She could barely even nod in reply to his question and, finally, she couldn't bear it anymore.

"I'm frightened."

A long pause followed her declaration. The atmosphere around her felt thick and suffocating. "You needn't be," came Erik's voice. She could have sworn there was a tension in his voice that had not been there before. She heard the door shut, and then the sound of the key turning in the lock.

A sob escaped Christine's throat.

"Please… don't make me do this."

There was no reply. Behind her there was complete silence and, when she finally risked turning around, she saw that the key had been pushed under the door. There was nothing else there.

Erik was gone.

* * *

**The Pleasure District**

Erik stormed through the streets, looking at nothing and no one. There was a thick veil of redness over his eyes that refused to be shaken. It wasn't exactly anger, it was a mixture of confusion and other emotions he simply could not understand, or did not wish to.

He had had no intention of staying with her in that room; although he knew that this was what Christine had believed would happen. But it was not just this that made his chest tighten up and left his breathing ragged. It was the fact that, when she entered that room, and he had stolen a brief moment to look at her when she didn't know… allowed himself to take in her delicate shape standing there… he had actually _wanted_ to. Yes… some deep and primal part of him had wanted to lock himself on the other side of the door with her. To hell with his resolve to distance himself… to never give in to such things.

And then those two words…

_I'm frightened._

It was such an obvious little thing to admit. And how could he blame her for feeling that way? Hearing her confess her fear had erased the brief, carnal desire that had welled up, and replaced it with something he found even harder to understand.

He had seen her shoulders shaking… heard the suppressed sob in her words and suddenly felt the urge… the need… to protect her.

He laughed. He stopped walking, leaning against a nearby building and began to laugh, loudly and bitterly, sending several of the people wandering the streets running away in fear. He paid no attention… the irony was too much to ignore.

Protect her? What an absurd notion. In that instant… the only thing she had needed protection from was _him _in his moment of weakness, when his emotionless personality had slipped just for an instant, revealing him as being no better than the man who had tried to buy her on the street. In all truthfulness, he had been fighting to remain emotionless from the moment he had seen her. Why… why had he suddenly decided to help her? Why had he stepped in to send that other man running away, and given her money when he had no intention of asking anything in return?

He told himself it was not for any personal reason. He had done it because he knew that if she descended to the level of a prostitute… reduced to selling her body on the streets, then no amount of talent would get her into the Opera company. They would not even have allowed her into the building. He had merely wished to help her… so she did not ruin her chances of a career. Her voice was too precious to be wasted. She had said she was worthless… and it had taken every bit of self-control he possessed not to scream in outrage… as if she didn't appreciate the beautiful gift she had been given, and had lost all hope of ever using it to its full potential.

Worthless? No… she was far from that. He knew that, given the chance, her 'worth' would be immeasurable.

But this still begged the question… why did he even care? He didn't care about anything. So why suddenly did he have delusions of assisting a pretty young girl who was as different from him as a dove is from a vulture. Why had he, for a brief instant, considered offering to help her with her music?

The idea, absurd though it was, had occurred to him as they walked and she recounted the horrible way she had been cast aside by the managers. He had come so close to offering… but had caught himself just in time; hardly daring to contemplate why he would wish to give lessons to this girl, regardless of how much he loved music… and regardless of how beautiful she would surely sound, if under his guidance.

And why in hell's name would she want him to help her anyway? He was a cold and brutal killer… the Angel of Death. He was certainly no teacher… no guardian angel.

With a sigh, he passed a hand over the mask.

Never mind angel… he was barely _human_.

He leant his full weight against the stone wall, trying to get his thoughts in some semblance of order. Taking deep breaths, he concentrated, focused his mind. But no matter how hard he tried, nothing could bring him back to that cold and heartless way of thinking. It had seemed so easy to be that way before.

But ever since he had met Christine…

What was it about this girl? What was this strange effect she had on him? Was it her voice? That spark of spirit within her? The complete contrast in their looks and personality? She was so many things he was not. Gentle, pure… beautiful. Perhaps he would have been more like her, had fate not been so cruel to him.

He laughed again, softly this time. Thinking like this would change nothing… he had told himself that many times in the past. What good was melancholic yearnings going to be now? Hell… he had thought himself beyond all of this long ago. He was 32, damn it. He should be able to control himself after so many years. Why was it suddenly so difficult?

He tried to hate her. He tried to hate her for doing this to him… for playing with his mind and complicating his life.

But he couldn't.

So he turned his hate elsewhere.

He sought out the man he had been paid to kill. The man knew what Erik had come to do, and had led him to somewhere quiet, where he thought they could battle it out… as if he imagined he stood a chance of winning.

Erik had planned to draw it out… to let himself go and get rid of all his frustrated, confused emotions as he utterly destroyed the man before him… to take his life slowly and feel it ebb and die like a cat playing with a baby bird before biting down into its tiny, helpless body.

But he couldn't do this either. Instead he snapped the man's neck, thankful that at least he could do _that_ without his conscience plaguing him, and then retreated into the sewers, to his home… unable, for the moment, to face the world above. He sat at the organ and sent angry notes thundering through the pipes, despising his weakness… despising the world… and wishing feverishly that he could despise Christine too. It was so infuriating. He was filled with hate… he brimmed over with it. It was the one emotion he did not suppress…

So why could he not bring himself to hate her?

* * *

A/N: Ah, Erik... the knight in dark armour, lol. He gets trickier as I go along... hopefully I'm keeping him in check so far. So, I hope you enjoyed! Keep the reviews coming and I'll se you all next time!


	8. Reunited

Well, we're back here again. Thanks for all your lovely reviews once again. I'm so glad people are enjoying it (and Erik especially, lol). Hope I can keep this up... and keep the weekly updates going. No major hiccups so far so... fingers crossed!

Enjoy the latest installment!

* * *

Chapter 7

**The Slums – Early morning**

Christine departed from the inn where Erik had left her as soon as light started to come through the curtains at the window. She didn't mind the late autumn chill that was in the air… in fact she was grateful for it. It helped clear her mind for a little, until her restless night came rushing back to her.

Not really having any other choice, she had decided to remain there at the inn, afraid of being approached by someone in the streets on her way home. She was reasonably safe at this time… but her mind was plagued with other worries instead. All through the night she had tossed and turned feverishly. Her brain had been so confused it had kept her awake until she had given up on sleep altogether.

Why had Erik done this?

She stared at the money in her hand, still unable to grasp the concept that it had been given to her. Were it not for Stefan and his unreasonable demands, it would have provided medicine for Mama Valerius for weeks… months even. And there would still be enough left to cover all other expenses too. And he had just given it to her without asking anything in return. She had been certain that he would… make use of her. But instead he had been gentlemanly and, in a strange way, reassuring. She could still hear him telling her that she needn't have been frightened. However, she still was. She was frightened of what his intentions might be… the reason for this inexplicable kindness that she had done nothing to deserve.

Not that she was ungrateful. A part of her wanted to find him and thank him again and again for sparing her. Then another part was scared that he suddenly _would_ turn around and ask for something in return.

She didn't know what to think, and it confused and frightened her.

So she had decided to come to somewhere quiet, where she might find some peace of mind… at least, that's what she hoped.

Through the early morning mist she saw the tiny church and, just beyond it, the little graveyard, grey and ethereal in the early morning light. It was one of the few open spaces left in the slums… with grass and a few trees scattered amongst the humble tombstones. She picked her way between them respectfully, ignoring the dew soaking into her shoes. Finally she crouched down beside a particularly small grave, with an inscription which read "Gustav Daae – Dearly Missed."

She had wanted something grander… something that would express her love for her beloved father and the deep sense of loss she still felt at being away from him. But money, as usual, had prevented that.

God, she _hated_ money.

Still, she had tried to comfort herself with the idea that maybe her father would have wanted her to keep things simple. He had never been a man of extravagance.

Reaching out, she touched her fingers to the stone. It was rough, but wonderfully clean. Every month or so she would come to clean it and sometimes leave flowers for him. Of course there were none to pick at this time of year, but she came to see him just the same.

"Hello, Daddy," she murmured, tracing her fingers along the letters of his name. "Did you miss me?" She smiled softly, as if she had actually heard his reply. "I missed you too."

She didn't cry. It wasn't strange that she didn't, although she had thought so at first. Mama had worried, when her tears had stopped after a few weeks, that she was keeping her true feelings close to her, locking them up tight so that no one would see how truly upset she had been by the loss. But, in actual fact, Christine did not cry when she came to see her father because, when she was kneeling here, it was almost like being with him again.

It was enough to keep her going… and give her some comfort when she felt disheartened.

Biting her lip, she stared at the grave… wondering.

"Have I let you down, daddy?" she asked in a quiet voice. "I hate to think that I have. I try so hard but…" she shook her head. "I'm so scared. I'm already something that I hate… I don't want to become a… a…" she couldn't say the word…not without crying. So instead she took a deep breath and composed herself. Finally she stood up.

"I really hope something comes along," she said wistfully. "Just something that will help me." Once more she reached out to touch the rough stone. "I love you, daddy. Somehow I'll make you proud of me… I promise."

With that, she turned to go, feeling, as she always did, a new glimmer of hope and strength.

* * *

**The Dancing Herald – Morning**

"Where is she, Meg?"

The black-haired girl bit her lip. She didn't want to worry Mama Valerius, but neither did she want to lie to her. The poor lady had been asking after Christine ever since Meg had taken her up some breakfast. She had come to the tavern early to find out what had happened at the Opera house yesterday, and found that her friend had still not returned home. Confronted by Mama Valerius' panicked demeanour, Meg was really at a loss.

"I think she went on an early morning walk… maybe she had some errands to run. She'll be fine… I'll send her up to you as soon as she comes back, I promise."

This seemed to placate the woman, and Meg left her alone, hiding her own worry with some difficulty. She had not seen Christine since she left for the Upper City the day before… and was worried that something had gone terribly wrong. Maybe Christine had been turned away, and was too upset to come home just yet. Or, even worse… what if she had been on her way home and just never made it…

Meg shook her head. She never liked to imagine the worst, so she painted a much better picture for herself. Perhaps Christine had astonished the managers and they had signed her up to be the opera's new diva straight away. No, that was unlikely… but a nice thought nevertheless. Maybe she'd met some handsome nobleman and been whisked off her feet… falling in love at first sight.

Meg smiled… how wonderful would that be…

She was about to continue her fantasy when a familiar figure walked into the kitchen.

"Christine!"

Her friend's expression turned awkward… she obviously knew she was going to get a stern talking-to. Meg rushed over and, by instinct, hugged the girl tightly before grabbing her arms and spinning her around, looking everywhere for signs of injury.

"Are you okay? I was so worried when you didn't come back yesterday… where did you go? Did something happen?" She grew more and more anxious with each questions, until she was finally forced to pause for breath, and in doing so realised that Christine seemed fine, at least physically. But there was a look in her eyes that said something was wrong.

"Christine?"

"I'm sorry, Meg… I didn't mean to worry anyone."

Meg tightened her grip. "Something happened, didn't it? Something bad? You have to tell me!"

But they were interrupted before Christine was given the chance to explain. The tapster walked in, followed by a man who looked completely out of place here… with a stylish, immaculate uniform, dark blue with a beautiful gold trim. It practically screamed the fact that he came from the Upper City, even if he was still a servant. He looked at the two girls, and frowned.

"Which one of you is Christine Daae, daughter of Gustav Daae?"

Meg glanced at Christine, feeling her confusion and apprehension at the mentioned of not only her name but her father's too. At least this man was not one of Stefan's group, that was for certain. But then, why was he here? Christine didn't seem to understand why either… which only made Meg more curious to find out what had happened the previous day.

Finally Christine cleared her throat to answer.

"I am."

Nodding, the servant approached her and, with a surprisingly respectful bow, handed her a perfectly white envelope, sealed and bearing her name. The red wax that held the envelope shut was stamped with a complicated coat of arms. Meg watched as Christine turned it over and over in her fingers, until finally she couldn't bear it a moment longer and urged her friend to open it. So Christine broke the seal and unfolded the letter inside.

"'To Miss Christine Daae,'" she read aloud. "'You are cordially invited to attend a meeting with regards to your future career at the Opera Populaire…'"

"You actually got into the company?" Meg interrupted, shocked and ecstatic. But Christine's expression was fixed in a frown and she shook her head.

"No… the… the managers told me 'no'. They wouldn't even let me sing because I didn't have training." Meg watched her eyes skim over the rest of the letter before she glanced up at the messenger. "Who gave you this? There's no signature."

"My master has respectfully declined to name himself," the man replied evenly. "However, if you accept his proposal and allow me to escort you to his home you shall have all the answers you require."

But Christine was clearly suspicious. "Is this some kind of practical joke?"

"Miss, I assure you that it is not."

He appeared sincere enough, but she still didn't look certain, and Meg couldn't honestly blame her. Sidling closer to her friend, she read through the rest of the note and saw that, indeed, there was no signature… nothing to indicate who or where the letter had come from.

"Maybe someone thinks you have talent?" she volunteered.

"Meg… how could anyone possibly know? I didn't sing while I was there… no one heard me."

"Maybe one of our clients," the tapster began, then glanced at the richly dressed messenger and thought about the type of people who came to the tavern. "Perhaps not."

Christine chewed her lip, and Meg understood her worry. But she nudged her gently and whispered: "What harm could it do? This might be your big chance… maybe the managers decided to hear you after all."

"I doubt it, Meg."

"Well… I still think you should go. You'll wonder about it forever if you don't."

She saw Christine look nervously at the messenger, but there was a faint glimmer of hope and intense curiosity there, and Meg knew instantly that she would go. After a few moments she nodded and Meg gave her an excited smile in return.

"Excellent news," the messenger said, looking a little relieved. "The carriage is just outside."

"Carriage?" exclaimed Meg and Christine together.

"Yes, my master's carriage."

Meg gave her friend an envious look. "You're so lucky."

Blushing, Christine folded the letter away and was just about to follow the messenger out when she halted. "Oh wait, let me just see Mama… she'll want to know I'm alright." And she dashed upstairs, Meg following quickly after her. After some reassurance that everything was alright, and that Christine had just received an exciting invitation, Meg sent her on her way, promising to look after Mama Valerius while she was gone. Looking out the window, she watched as Christine was assisted into a gorgeous black carriage, with red and gold trim, and a magnificent coat of arms set into the door. The white horses pawed at the stone ground with their hooves until the messenger climbed up beside the driver and told him to move off. A flick of the whip and they were moving smoothly along the street, with people stopping to stare as they went by.

Meg watched them go, knowing she would be on edge all day until she found out from Christine everything that had happened.

* * *

**The Upper City – Morning**

She would have been lying if she said she was entirely comfortable with this setting, but Christine couldn't help marvelling at her strange circumstances. Inside the carriage, completely alone, she ran her fingers over the thin gauze curtains and the soft cushions. Listening to the sound of the horses hooves, she shook her head, hardly able to believe she was riding in an expensive carriage, in the Upper City… on her way to see…

Who, exactly? Who was she about to meet? Her emotions were a jumbled mix as she tried to think of someone she knew who would, out of the blue, ask her up to the city's most glamorous area… to their own home, of all places. It did not seem the usual way of doing things.

Not that Christine could pretend to know anything about life among the aristocracy, of course.

She twisted her fingers in her lap, casting nervous glances outside the window as the buildings beyond seemed to grow ever more extravagant. They made a turn, and Christine overcame her nervousness as the carriage began to move alongside a vast river that flowed right through the district. In the morning sun the water sparkled, dotted with elegant little boats. A great marble bridge came into view, and she felt light-headed as she realised they were passing over it. Over here, the houses seemed like miniature palaces, pristine and beautiful.

She felt more and more out of place with every passing moment…

After some time, she felt that the carriage's pace was beginning to slow, and she risked leaning her head out of the window a little to get her first look at their destination. They were on a street lined with particularly fashionable looking houses and Christine swallowed a lump as they pulled up in front of one. She retreated to the centre of the carriage seat once more, nervously waiting to be allowed out. Finally the man who had been sent to 'fetch' her opened the door and beckoned her out into the open. Self-conscious though she was, she followed dutifully into the pristine house, and was shown into a gorgeous living room. She had to stand in the doorway for a few moments to take it in.

Finally she stepped inside, onto the soft carpet. She felt terrible for walking on it in her dirty shoes, and kept her hands close by her sides, not wanting to upset anyone by dirtying things… the lush, green velvet curtains… the white painted walls… the soft furnishings tastefully arranged around the marble fireplace.

She frowned… hanging over the mantelpiece was something she guessed was a family portrait. A mother and father, the epitome of aristocracy, with an almost regal, yet still gentle look. And two young sons… the older one handsome, a little hardened around the eyes and mouth perhaps, but still handsome.

And the younger…

"Hello, Christine."

She turned to stare at the young man who had just entered the room. Then she looked back at the portrait… then back again.

"R… Raoul?"

A charming smile spread across the young man's face as she stared at him.

"You have no idea how good it is that you recognise me."

Yes, she recognised him. It had been many years, but he was still very much the same… with gentle, handsome features. His blonde hair was exactly was she remembered, perhaps a little darker though… and his blue eyes sparkled with that same child-like playfulness. Yes, he was certainly the young boy from the family portrait… and she certainly recognised _that_ young face.

"It's… really you?" she found herself asking, even though she already knew.

His smile broadened as he nodded, apparently enjoying her stunned reaction. Finally he came towards her, and the closer he was the more certain Christine grew that he was indeed her old childhood friend. She was surprised by his familiarity, because he actually put his arms around her, giving her a warm embrace. Caught off-guard once more, it was a few moments before she recovered herself enough to return his friendly affection.

"It's so wonderful to see you," he said over her shoulder.

"It's so… unexpected to see you," she replied, making them both laugh. They drew back to look at each other and Christine shook her head, still hardly able to believe it. "How… how did you know where I was?"

"You don't remember?" he asked with a wry grin. She frowned and shook her head. "You nearly knocked me down yesterday at the Opera. I must say… it was not the greeting I would have expected." He laughed as Christine raised her hand to her mouth in realisation and horror. He removed it gently, holding it between his own. "Don't look so upset."

"Oh, Raoul… that was you," she stammered, having unpleasant memories of the previous day, and the faceless shape she had run into. "I'm so sorry… I didn't recognise you… I would have stopped if – "

"Christine," he interrupted her reassuringly. "It's alright… you don't need to explain anything." He offered her a seat and she took it wordlessly. He turned briefly to ask a servant to bring in some tea before sitting beside her. "I'm just glad it happened… it's been such a long time."

"Yes it has," she agreed, laughing. "It must be eight years at least."

It was… eight years since they had last said goodbye… down by the coast where she and her father had once lived. That was where they had first met too, on Raoul's annual summer visit to stay with his grandmother. Apparently he had gone there all the time, but it was only when he was ten years old and she eight that they had actually come across each other.

One evening, just before sunset, Christine had been walking along the beach when a sharp stabbing pain had shot through her foot. She had trodden on a piece of broken glass, no doubt from a liquor bottle carelessly discarded by someone. Crying, she had sat in the surf to try and stop the bleeding when a voice had asked her what was wrong. She had turned to see a young boy crouching by her. Even though his appearance was slightly ruffled, she could tell from his clothes and voice that he was of higher status than she.

"Where does it hurt?" he had asked, with surprisingly genuine concern.

She had tried to politely refuse his help, but in the end he had bound the injury with his handkerchief and, because she couldn't walk properly, she had ridden on his back all the way home. Her father had thanked the boy profusely for helping her, who had even offered to have his grandmother's doctor examine the wound in case there was any infection.

Christine had been confined to her bed for a week and, with her father working most of the day, she had very little to do. But, to her surprise, she received a visitor on the first day… and little Raoul de Chagney became her bedside companion, playing games and exchanging stories until his grandmother demanded he return home in the evenings. They became almost inseparable over the summer and even when Raoul returned home to the city they had written to each other as often as they could. And the next year, Raoul came back and they were together again as if they had never been apart.

However, it had come to an end when Raoul's grandmother had passed away. Christine had been very sad to hear this… for she had been a lovely woman, and not at all disapproving of the two children's innocent friendship. But she had been further devastated when Raoul arrived for the funeral, accompanied by his parents and brother… and they had not been so welcoming of her. They had not been unkind, but they impressed the fact that the children were too different, and Raoul was a young man of fourteen… with no time for childish games. Raoul, they told her, would not be visiting here in the summer, or at any other time.

She had tried to be brave, but cried to her father at losing her good friend. They had said goodbye, and Christine never received another letter or saw him again. She had tried to understand and safely forget him, but found it increasingly difficult to do so. Then, a year later, Mama Valerius' husband had passed away and she, Christine and her father had decided to leave and settle elsewhere. This had not proven easy, and had led to many years of wandering before they came to the city to try and help Mama get well again. As things in life began to grow ever more complicated, there had been little room for Christine to think of the past. As a bleak and miserable future began to close in on her, her idyllic childhood seemed like a dream.

Christine had not thought of Raoul when she came here… she had never imagined that they would meet again.

"Eight years," whispered Raoul, and she knew he had been remembering too. "It's hard to imagine, isn't it."

"Yes," she agreed. "So much seems to have happened since then."

"Yes… but you seem well. And your father, I trust he is well?"

He must have seen her face change from an expression of cheerful recollection to one of deep sadness and loss. There was a long pause, and then she felt his hands squeeze hers ever so gently.

"Oh, Christine… I'm so sorry," he said. She forced a brave smile, but didn't risk speaking just yet. Raoul paused again, but she knew he would ask questions now. "When did it happen?"

"Oh… it was about a year and a half ago," she replied, somewhat shakily. "There was an epidemic in our part of the city…" She trailed off, not wishing to explain how she had continuously begged her father not to go out because she feared he would catch the disease. Mama, confined to her bed, was not so much at risk, and Christine was young and healthy enough to fight off any infection. But, despite his age and already declining health, he had gone out to work and provide for his little family.

And, of course, the inevitable had happened.

"I'm sorry," Raoul said again, and once more they lapsed into awkward silence. He then asked about Mama Valerius and how she was, so Christine was forced to explain the dear lady's poor condition and make their conversation even more uncomfortable.

"Well… perhaps my family's doctor could come and see her," he suggested.

She shook her head. "No… we've seen so many doctors, Raoul. They all say the same thing. The best I can do for her is try to keep her comfortable and ease her pain."

"That can't be easy for you," he said, his voice full of sympathy. "How do you manage?"

Christine inwardly cowered at the question. She had no desire to inform her childhood friend of her detestable profession. Instead she explained that she worked as a barmaid in the tavern, and that she sometimes sang for the patrons… which was not entirely true, as she had only sung once, but it was far better than telling him the truth.

"Is that why you came to the Opera?" he asked. "I spoke to the managers and they said they turned you down for a position in the company."

Christine gave a tiny shrug. 'Turned down' was putting it a little mildly… but Raoul must have known how upset she was by the whole ordeal. She found herself saying, a little bitterly perhaps: "It shouldn't have surprised me really... and I was warned that it would happen." She thought of Erik… and then had to try very hard not to.

"Because you don't have proper training?"

She nodded.

"Well then… I have an interesting offer for you, my dear friend." She watched as he stood up, and found her curiosity piqued. He had the same expression she remembered from their youth… the one he had when a plan had come to mind. Back then they had usually involved cave-exploration, treasure-hunting and all manner of silly adventures. But they were older now, she reminded herself, though she smiled at the thought of a full-grown Raoul, soaked to the bone, scrambling among the seaweed-covered rocks pretending to be a pirate.

"My family have been well-known patrons of the Opera for some time," he was saying as he paced the room slowly. "And I have a few connections there. Now… obviously I can't deny the managers have a point… I can't force them to take on someone with no training. But I know you have a wonderful voice… I remember very well how beautiful it is. So…" And here he came back to stand over her, taking her hands once more. "What would you say if I offered to pay for your tuition?"

Christine stared at him, not quite sure she had heard right.

"I beg you pardon?"

His smile broadened. "What would you say if I offered to pay for your tuition?"

"I'd say you were either teasing or mad," she replied, trying to pull her hands away from him. But he held on tight and crouched down before her.

"I am not mad, Christine… nor am I teasing. I'm deadly serious. Think about it for a moment…" he sat down beside her, apparently so excited by his plan he could not keep still. "I'll arrange for you to have lessons, and then once you've secured a place at the company you can come and live closer… and bring Mama Valerius with you, of course. That way you'll both be out of the slums, and you can provide for the both of you. I would have offered more help… but I know how proud you can be sometimes."

"Yes," she agreed, her voice filled with disbelief. "And I would certainly not accept any more help than you've already offered." She shook her head. "Raoul… it's so wonderful that you've thought of me and I'm so happy to see you again. But… this is just too generous. It wouldn't be right for me to accept."

"Why not?" Raoul asked, losing none of his boyish enthusiasm.

"Because it wouldn't be. I'd feel like… like I was abusing your memory of an old friendship."

"Actually, if I'm entirely honest, the whole reason I'm offering you this chance is to try and rekindle that old friendship."

Christine was shocked to hear this, and felt the blush creep into her cheeks and her hands felt damp in Raouls. She wished he would let them go, but he obstinately refused to.

"Besides… you and I both know you belong in that place… on that stage. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't help you in any way I could?"

Overwhelmed by what she was hearing, Christine shook her head in disbelief. This young man, her old childhood playmate, was offering her the chance to become what she had always dreamed she would be… what her father and Mama Valerius had wanted her to be. To be part of the most prestigious Opera company in the world. On top of that it would solve all her financial troubles… help Mama… She would have to be mad to refuse… and she could feel herself giving in a little.

"But… I wouldn't have any idea how to repay you," she said.

"Christine… I don't care about you repaying me. Honestly, I don't. As long as you spend a few hours here after your lessons to talk with me... about old times and… everything else. I would like that very much."

"So would I," Christine admitted, realising that she had more or less agreed to Raouls whole plan already. In spite of her misgivings, she couldn't help but be excited… both by the renewed hope of a career at the opera and her reunion with Raoul.

"So, you'll accept my offer to pay for your tuition?"

She looked into his blue eyes and, when he put on an adorable pout she couldn't help laughing. "Alright… I accept."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Raoul, squeezing her hands. "I'll make the arrangements as soon as I can. But now, Miss Daae…" he indicated the servant behind him, who had just returned with a small tray of tea and refreshments, "… will you join me for a cup of tea on this fine morning?"

Christine laughed. This was exactly what he had always said to her when they were children. And she responded in her usual way, the memory flooding back.

"I'd be delighted, kind sir."

* * *

A/N: I know... no Erik. I wanted to put him in but this chapter turned into a purely Raoul and Christine background chapter. So I hope you're not too disappointed. And I hope you like the background I've added. I wanted it to have the same sort of feel as Leroux's "scarf-in-the-sea" scenario, but I didn't want to copy either so... hope it worked out. So, thanks for tuning in, hehe. See you next week!


	9. Kind?

Well, here we go again. Sorry once again about no Erik in the last chapter, and deep apologies for the R/C content, hehe. Aww... Raoul's not such a bad guy. Still prefer Erik... but he's not a bad guy.

Anyway... on with the chapter. Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 8

**The Slums – Afternoon**

Raoul had Christine taken back in his carriage, and she was able to enjoy the luxury of riding home in style. He had even offered to collect her for her lessons and take her there and back, but she had put her foot down and refused, saying he had already been generous enough and besides, it made her self-conscious seeing his magnificently expensive carriage waiting outside the simple tavern in the middle of the slums.

She felt giddy… happier than she had felt in quite a long time, even when she had been playing and singing at the tavern. A smile seeped across her face as the carriage bounced over the rough uneven ground of the slums.

Seeing Raoul… and accepting his offer… had given her morale an incredible lift. Recently things had seemed to be carrying her up, only to fall away beneath her feet just when she thought herself safe. But this time, she felt certain that things were going to start getting better for herself and Mama. She couldn't wait to tell the dear lady everything that had happened. She had always been so fond of Raoul when they were children… and of course she would be thrilled to hear about Christine's lessons.

The carriage pulled up outside the Dancing Herald at last, and Christine thanked the driver profusely before darting inside. Meg was nowhere in sight, so she went straight up to her room, taking the steps two at a time in her excitement. No doubt she gave Mama a fright as she barged into the room, but her excitement became infectious as she rushed to the bedside.

"Oh, Mama… you won't believe what's happened!"

"Christine, calm down… you'll give me a heart attack," the old lady said, though she was smiling knowing the girl was so happy. She reached out for the girl's hands, and Christine gave them to her, squeezing gently. "Now… tell me what happened."

The girl was almost too out of breath from excitement to speak, but she finally managed to find her voice. "Well… when I went to the opera yesterday, they said they couldn't let me sing there because I didn't have any training… and they only allow trained singers there…"

"That doesn't sound like exciting news to me," Mama said, her enthusiasm waning.

"I've not finished yet, Mama," Christine giggled. "The messenger today took me to the Upper City… and a young man offered to pay for singing lessons! Isn't that wonderful?"

Like she had expected, Mama Valerius was a little sceptical. "Well… yes, that is very generous. But why would some stranger offer to do such a thing? Has he heard you sing at the tavern? If so… he must have been mightily impressed."

"No…" Christine said, waiting to deliver the big news. "Do you remember all those years ago… when we lived by the coast?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember that I had a friend there? A little boy I used to play with every summer."

"Of course I remember," the lady said. "Little… Raoul, wasn't it? Yes. The two of you were inseparable…" Christine bit her lip, grinning as she waited for the penny to drop, which it finally did. Mama's face lit up with such joy Christine found herself laughing. "Oh, Christine… it was _him_?"

"Yes!"

"The little boy who carried you all the way home when you hurt your foot?"

"The very same! He recognised me when I left the opera and tracked me down here to the tavern. He said he had some connections in the opera company and he's one of their biggest patrons. So he's offered to help me by paying for lessons!"

"Oh, dear child… that's wonderful. Oh… I'm so happy for you." And the two embraced in celebration. Christine didn't say some of the thoughts going through her head… how this would free them from their financial troubles and hopefully get Christine out of her disastrous situation with Stefan, but it was happy news for the lady nevertheless. She had always maintained that Christine could have become a magnificent performer if given the right chance… and now that chance has finally come.

They sat up together for a long time, reliving old memories as they hadn't done for a long time… and also talked about the future… how much things would improve. Christine delighted in seeing Mama so alive and excited. Long after she had fallen asleep Christine was still awake, smiling and imagining how wonderful life would be… it might not be happening overnight… but it would get better, she was certain.

She fell asleep at long last, and rested more peacefully than she had in many weeks.

* * *

**The Sewers – Evening (A Few Days Later)**

Erik left his home a little earlier than usual, for no particular reason. It was autumn, and the days were getting shorter, so it would already be dark outside. He wanted to work again… work was safe and comforting in its own way.

Strange really, because usually it was music that was his comfort… the one thing he could find complete solace in. Over the past few days he had tried to ease himself… find some peace of mind… and had been composing like a madman. But the pieces he created had only succeeded in confusing and frustrating him further. They reflected thoughts he did not want to put into music… things he did not want written down, because it was like admitting that something was not right with him.

And there was. He was grudgingly beginning to admit it. He could deny it all he wished, but at the end of the day his behaviour had been overly strange recently. He still could not stop thinking about Christine… regardless of the numerous distractions he tried to use and constantly berating himself for acting like a complete fool. The image of her… the sound of her voice seemed branded on his mind. It plagued him, whether he was awake or sleeping. He had yet to decipher what it was about her that made him this way. A part of him said that it was better if he let it go and never found out the answer.

And then another part of him would be overwhelmed with curiosity as to why a mere girl could reduce him to _this_.

Climbing out of the sewer system once more and into the open night air, he once again admonished himself. He should know better… he really should.

As was his custom, he slipped quietly into the Hanging Judge through the back door, but he did not have a chance to settle himself. A familiar figure caught his eye.

Christine, _again_.

Surely something… some force in the world… was conspiring to turn him quite mad. It seemed that everywhere he went this girl haunted his steps. When he was away from her, he would hate himself for being so weak… but now that she was in such close proximity it seemed too easy to fall into the trap. He kept telling himself that there was no harm in it… his reaction was nothing special. Perhaps after seeing her a few more times the feeling would simply vanish. It was a passing phase, nothing more.

She wasn't important.

But he still watched her as she handed over the money to Stefan, who grinned at seeing what Erik assumed was a decent amount, considering what he had given the girl a few nights ago. He noted her expression, and realised that, although she did not look at all pleased to be here, which was hardly surprising, she did not seem quite so distraught as before, even when Stefan returned to her a pitifully small percentage, and a few customary snide remarks.

Erik's curiosity was piqued. What had brought about this change?

As he watched, Christine rose to her feet and began to make her way to the door. He was about to call her name, before remembering where he was. Not wishing to draw attention to either himself or Christine, he slipped back outside into the alleyway and, when she went past, he used a little trick he had taught himself over the years, and, although there was a good twenty feet between them, spoke her name directly into her ear.

He saw her stop, and couldn't help but smile at her bemused expression. She couldn't see him hidden in the shadows and no doubt she was wondering if she were hearing things. In spite of himself he enjoyed her bewilderment, and watched as she glanced around, looking more and more flustered.

"Over here, Christine," he said finally, drawing her attention to the alleyway in which he stood.

She looked in his direction, but it was obvious she couldn't see him clearly and she warily took a step closer. Her forehead creased as she peered at him, and finally seemed to realise who he might be.

"Erik?" she asked.

He didn't know why, but he felt some satisfaction in hearing her speak his name.

"Yes," he told her, and was surprised to see her sigh with relief. Had he scared her that much? He couldn't help but feel a little smug, even as he said: "I hope I did not frighten you." He made sure his tone was perfectly level.

"A little," she admitted, although she was smiling as she said it. "For a moment I thought I might be going mad."

He couldn't contain a dark chuckle at that, and then fell silent as he studied her face closely. Yes… there certainly was something changed about her demeanour, and a new look in her eyes that suggested something good had happened to her. But he couldn't very well ask her outright about it. And when he saw that his silence, which had gone on longer than he intended, along the intensity of his gaze, was beginning to make her uncomfortable, he quickly though of something to renew the conversation.

"You were here to make a payment, I assume."

She nodded. "Yes…" She hesitated and obviously there was something else she wished to say. But she seemed to be having trouble getting the words out, and a soft blush was colouring her cheeks. He found it quite charming.

_Oh please…_ sneered the disdainful voice inside his head.

"Erik…" She spoke his name and once again had his full attention. "I… I wanted to thank you for what you did for me the other night."

_Oh no… not that. _He had tried very hard not to think about that night in particular these past few days. It only succeeded in making him frustrated with himself. The last thing he needed was for Christine to bring it up. "It was nothing," he said dismissively, but she would have none of it.

"No it wasn't," she insisted. "I didn't get the chance to thank you before but… thank you. It was… very kind of you to do that for me."

Erik was temporarily stunned. He had been called many things during his life but 'kind' was certainly not one of them. And yet here was a young girl, standing before him in all her innocence, thanking him for a supposed act of 'kindness'. He wasn't certain whether to be angry or to laugh outright. What did this girl know of him? Why did she think him kind when, on their first encounter, he had come close to strangling her and then, when they next met, had insulted and humiliated her in front of Stefan and his lackeys?

"I would hardly call myself _kind_," he told her with a certain amount of bitterness.

"Well… I doubt there are many men who would have done what you did."

Dear god, did this girl have any idea what she was saying… and what kind of _thing _she was saying it to?

"It is a pity," he said, changing the subject swiftly, "that you cannot use the money for a better purpose than paying off that man."

"Yes," she agreed with a small, sad smile. "But I hope soon I can put all this behind me."

"Oh?" he asked, intrigued by this strange new optimism, and feeling oddly privileged that she seemed comfortable enough to reveal this to him. "And how is that?"

Her smile widened. It lit up her face and made her look, he was forced to admit, more charming than he could ever have imagined. It was an infectious kind of happiness, and Erik could not help being warmed by it, in spite of himself.

"Someone has offered to pay for singing lessons," she told him.

The feeling of warmth subsided. He was quite glad of the mask in that instant because, to his intense shock, he felt a surge of sickening regret that it was not himself who would be teaching her. The feeling was like a dead weight inside his body and it would not be cast off. Why it bothered him so much, he didn't like to think. He told himself it was merely the fact that the training of such a perfect instrument should not fall to just any musician. He wondered if her teacher was up to the task… if they would be capable of unlocking her full potential.

"Well, that is good news," he said, though his enthusiasm sounded strained, even to him. Christine, however, seemed too happy to notice. "And who was generous enough to offer you this?"

_Damn it, Erik_, he shouted at himself… _stop asking questions when you shouldn't care about the answers!_

"An old friend of mine. I haven't seen him in years… but he saw me leaving the Opera and…"

The world slowed to a crawl and, while Erik was aware that her mouth was still moving, the girl's words faded in and out as angry thoughts began to cloud his head. An old friend? An old, _male_ friend. So some rich young man was offering her lessons to further her career? And she was standing there, innocently talking about his generosity and all that nonsense… was she really so naïve? Probably, he realised bitterly. Those rich young men of the Upper City didn't have the first clue about real beauty when it came to music. All they cared about were beautiful faces… no doubt that was all this idiot friend was interested in… no doubt…

He snapped himself out of this strange thought pattern when he realised Christine had asked him a question.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her forehead creasing again in worry… for _him_?

_Hah!_ As if anyone would ever worry about him. And they shouldn't, either. He could take care of himself. That's the way it had always been and should always be. To hell with the rest of the world! To hell with Christine and to hell with her pretty rich boy, whoever he was!

"Quite alright," he replied sharply, and he saw Christine recoil at the vindictive tone in his voice. "I'm sure things will work out very well for you. Now, if you will excuse me… I have other matters to attend to."

And with that he retreated into the alley and went back inside the tavern, wondering what in the world had possessed him to react in this way.

* * *

**The Slums**

Christine had been left standing outside the alley, not quite sure what had just happened. Briefly she wondered if she should go after Erik, wondering if he might be ill. His sudden change in demeanour and cold, clipped farewell had disturbed her, and she swore she could have almost seen the anger pouring from his body… flaring in those yellow eyes.

It reminded her of their first encounter, and sent a chill down her spine.

Eventually, after standing in the alleyway a few more minutes, she turned to go home. If she had been the cause of Erik's sudden bad mood, then she did not want to fuel his anger further. Perhaps another day she would meet him and have the chance to apologise for whatever she might have said to offend him.

She was surprised by her own thoughts… that she was not wholly adverse to the idea of seeing him again. In spite of remembering his coldness, his obvious temper and violent personality… she couldn't help feeling a little won over by the kindness he had chosen to show her, and his well-meant advice which she now wished she had listened to. Perhaps the coldness he seemed to exhibit to everyone was merely a front, that would occasionally give way to reveal a man who was capable of being very thoughtful… though he seemed determined to deny it, as she had seen when he dismissed the idea of him being kind.

She wondered why that was… why he would think so little of himself in that regard. She supposed it had something to do with his profession. Christine would admit to being somewhat naïve at times, but she was not stupid. His black clothes… his secretive personality… his apparent wealth… she did not like to think of him as a hired assassin, but she couldn't deny the likelihood of it. She couldn't imagine doing anything so terrible...killing people for money. It was too horrible.Then again, she told herself, years ago she would never have believed she would be on the streets picking pockets.

Perhaps, like her, he had been driven to those extremes… and his distant, uncaring personality was his means of dealing with killing, just as she dealt with pick-pocketing.

She was surprised to realise that this made them very similar.

* * *

**The Hanging Judge**

Erik sat down, fuming, at one of the tables. It was moments like this he wished he drank. So many people took comfort in alcohol… which he didn't like to do. But right now he would have done almost anything to try and settle himself. He would have drunk the bar dry if necessary.

Instead he drummed his gloved fingers on the table and, behind the mask, ground his teeth together. He felt so… infuriated. At himself mostly, but also because he felt he had been denied something… even if he wasn't entirely sure what it was. The moment Christine had said she had found a tutor he had felt as though he had been punched in the gut. And when she had mentioned it was a man who had offered to help her, he had just snapped. But why? Why had he lost his temper like that? It was really none of his concern if Christine had acquired a tutor through the generosity of a friend. So it was male friend? What did it matter to him? Christine's career was moving along… that was the important thing. He should be happy for her.

_No you shouldn't! You shouldn't be happy! You shouldn't be ANYTHING! You shouldn't CARE!_

He felt himself cowering inwardly at this voice of cold, hard reason. All the time he heard it telling him to be emotionless, as he should be… and he knew that it was the best and most sensible thing. Yet every time he saw Christine his resolve began to crumble… and the more time he spent thinking of her the more he ignored that voice… and the more agitated he became.

He knew he was being foolish. But, for some reason, he couldn't help himself…

"Well, look who's here."

At the familiar voice, Erik raised his head and narrowed his yellow eyes at Stefan, possibly the last person he wished to see in his current state.

"I suggest you leave me in peace," he said icily, "unless you have business to discuss."

"Lucky me then," Stefan replied, cocky as ever as he pulled up a chair, several of his gang coming to stand close by. Erik was not too angry to notice the expression in the man's eyes… the barely contained fury. "Been busy lately, have ya?"

"That has nothing to do with you."

"Like hell it doesn't," Stefan snapped, failing to contain his temper. "Ya did a job on one of my guys!"

"And?" Erik replied without missing a beat. He might have known something like this would happen.

"Ya asking for trouble… taking something like that."

Erik was annoyed enough already. This was the last thing he needed, but he managed to keep his cool even in the face of Stefan's rage.

"Perhaps I should remind you that I do not work explicitly for _you_, Stefan. If a person can pay for my services then I do what they ask and take the money. That is the end of it. If you wish to make this matter personal I suggest you take your complaints to the person who hired me."

"Then who hired ya?"

Erik smiled nastily behind the mask. "You know it's not my policy to name my employers."

He watched Stefan's face contort with his anger, and derived no small amount of satisfaction from riling the man. Besides, everyone knew that that was how the people in this business worked. If Stefan chose to question that… it was his problem.

"I'm warning you…" Stefan began.

"Do not bother. If it weren't for your lackey's you wouldn't even have had the nerve to approach me," Erik said, rising to leave. "Besides… you need my services too much to do without me."

"One day yer gonna outlive your usefulness," Stefan snarled at Erik's back.

There was a blur of movement and abruptly, Stefan found Erik's masked face and flaring yellow eyes much closer to his own, and he found it hard to hide his sudden fear at how demonic those eyes looked. It was hard to imagine he was human… and considering the kind of man he was, and what he was capable of…

The men behind Stefan leapt to defend their leader, but were brought to a halt by the look in Erik's eyes. He turned back to the man he held, and when he spoke, it was in a soft, icy-cold voice.

"Not before you do, Stefan… I promise you that."

He turned and left without so much as a backward glance, but in doing so failed to see the look of fear on Stefan's face change from one of fear to anger… and then to an expression of deep cunning. If Erik had noticed that look he might have guarded his actions much more carefully… he might have been more careful and wondered what exactly Stefan had witnessed to make him feel he still had the upper hand.

Yes… there was a man who still had an ace up his sleeve. And, if the time came, he would use it without mercy.

* * *

A/N: I took a bit of a risk here... you might have noticed that up until now I've been writing the Erik/Christine interaction fromt Christine's point of view, and looking at Erik's thoughts AFTER the conversation. It was a way of getting around the 'keeping Erik in character' problem. But I decided to try and do a conversation from Erik's POV, just to see if I could handle it. So please let me know what you think of that... and everything else as well, lol. Thanks for all your lovely reviews. See you next time! 


	10. The False Teacher

Another week, another chapter. Thanks guys for all your reviews and support... don't know what I'd do without it. I am a bit paranoid, I guess... with keeping Erik in character. I'm a bit of a perfectionist in that regard, hehe.

**Narnian Sprite** - You're right... Erik does have a kind of Smeagol/Gollum thing going on here. I'd better avoid using the word 'precious' or that image is just going to get stuck in my head, lol.

* * *

Chapter 9

**The Upper City – Morning**

It took Christine quite some time to find herself on the familiar street where Raoul lived, even with the directions and map the messenger had provided last week. The walk had been a long one, but she was more excited than tired, although the excitement was coloured by nervousness.

It had been over a week since she had last been here, and she hadn't expected to return quite so soon. But yesterday Raoul had sent word that her first lesson would be today, so he must not have wasted a moment in finding her a tutor.

Christine smiled… he hadn't changed. He was still as eager to please as ever. It would be lovely to see him again… after all she had promised to stay after her lesson to talk with him about old times. It was strange that she had agreed to do this. For a long time she had been afraid to think too much about the past, because it brought an aching feeling to her chest that refused to go away. But now, to her surprise, she found it helped her mood… and she took it as a sign that she was finally starting to move along with her life.

Not that the past meant any less to her, of course. Those memories were precious. But it was good to be able to remember them without fighting tears. She was grateful to Raoul for that.

She pulled on the cord at the side of the large white door, and heard the bell ring inside. Promptly a servant answered her call and she introduced herself, though, as she was led inside, she felt the man's eyes watching her with a look that clearly told her she did not belong. It would have bothered her… she had been subjected to those looks from quite a few people when she had wandered into this part of the Upper City.

She had ignored them as best she could and, for the moment, chose to ignore the servants look as well and entered the sitting room where Raoul was waiting for her.

"I'm so glad you came," he told her, taking her hands in his. His sincerity and warm smile made Christine feel a little less apprehensive as she sat beside him on the silk sofa. Once again she thanked him for his generosity, but he laughed.

"I told you… it's the least I can do. I think you'll be very happy with what I've arranged."

Yes, she certainly was looking forward to meeting her tutor. She only hoped it was someone kind, who would not be too harsh with her. Her nervousness must have shown in her expression, because Raoul touched her chin and tilted her head up to look at him.

"What's wrong? You're not scared, are you?"

Why did she feel suddenly so aware of his touch on her bare skin? And the look in his eyes… she had to turn her head away, forcing him to relinquish his contact.

"A little," she admitted. "I suppose I just want to do well."

"You will… I know it," he said reassuringly and, as he spoke, the bell rang once more, making Christine jump a little. "That must be her now. Show her in!"

Bowing, a servant quickly went to fetch the new arrival, and brought her into the living room, where she stood as though she were a member of some royal family. She was in her late thirties or forties, if Christine were to hazard a guess. She was dressed so luxuriously that she was on the verge of looking outrageous, with a fur wrapped around her shoulders and a hat balanced on a head of tight cinnamon-coloured ringlets, beautifully styled. It made Christine wish she had made a little more effort with her own appearance. She tried surreptitiously to smooth out her dress and stand a little straighter.

Raoul, who apparently couldn't have cared less about appearances, rose and greeted the woman, leading her over to Christine, who had risen politely at her entrance. From this distance, Christine could better see her face under the hat. There were tell-tale signs of the woman's age, but she was still very beautiful, though her expression seemed a little sour, even when she smiled upon being introduced. There was a strong smell of perfume about her… some exotic, flowery scent that tainted the air so that, when Christine wet her lips, there was a bitter taste on them.

"It is my pleasure to introduce you to Madame Carlotta Gudicelli," Raoul said, beaming happily. "The leading soprano at the Opera House."

'Madame Carlotta' smiled, and seemed to feign coyness at the mention of her career. Christine, feeling something was expected of her, curtseyed demurely.

"It's an honour, Madame," she said softly.

"And you must be Christine," the other woman said. "The Viscount has told me all about you… and your talent." Was it Christine's imagination or was there something derogatory about the woman's tone?

"When you left last week, Christine, I thought to myself… who better to teach my dear friend than the best and most famous soprano in the world. And here she is."

Again, Carlotta contrived to look embarrassed. She and Christine regarded each other, though somewhat warily. The young girl tried to remind herself that this woman must be very highly regarded, if she truly was the Opera's leading soprano… and she was being generous enough to give her lessons. She should treat her with respect and gratitude.

"I'm very grateful," she said as humbly as she could manage.

"Yes, I'm sure you are," Carlotta replied. "Of course I could hardly refuse a request from the de Chagney family… and the Viscount was very adamant that you receive lessons. You must be quite a gifted young lady."

If there was a double meaning in that statement, Christine did not understand it and tried her best to hide her confusion. She smiled shyly and listened as Raoul and her supposed teacher took their seats and began to discuss her tuition for her as if she were not there. From what she could gather she was to come here on this same morning without fail once a week. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had little or no control over this situation, and it made her a little annoyed.

"And I expect her to keep up with her practice in the meantime," the woman said severely. "There is little I can do if the girl hasn't the discipline or the will to achieve."

Despite herself, Christine hands tightened into fists until her knuckles turned white. She had discipline… _and_ 'the will'. How outrageous it was for this woman to think that she would be wasting her time giving lessons. Christine was hardly going to ruin her one chance at success… the one opportunity she had to help Mama and get herself out of the mess she was in. She would prove herself to these people… or die in the attempt.

Raoul answered the woman for her, though much more calmly than she would have done. "I can assure you, Christine is not only gifted but very determined. If she sets her mind to something… nothing will stand in her way. She's always been stubborn."

Christine cast him a look and he grinned slyly at her to show he was only teasing. She gave him a smile in return, feeling her tension abate just a little. Raoul, at least, believed in her. She could count on his support… not to mention that of Meg and Mama Valerius…

_And Erik…_ spoke a little voice in the back of her mind.

Unconsciously, she bit her lip. Thinking of him _again_. What did he have to do with this?

Mind you, she told herself… he had expressed an interest in her 'ability'. That was a show of support, was it not? Christine found herself wondering what he might have thought of her tutor, since he claimed to know so much about music. But since she had not seen him since the previous week when he had snapped at the news that she had been offered tuition, she doubted she would have the opportunity to tell him about Madame Carlotta.

When she was finally properly included in the conversation it was to be shown into a smaller study room, where a beautiful piano sat in one corner, sleek and polished. A man was waiting for them, sitting on the stool… and he turned out to be the pianist Raoul had brought in to play during the lessons, since apparently Carlotta was only a musician in the vocal sense.

"Well, I'll let you begin. Please let me know if there's anything you need."

And with that Raoul departed, though Christine fervently wished he would stay to guard her against any unfortunate happenings. This Carlotta woman had a very intimidating aura about her, although whether this was her imagination Christine couldn't be sure. Nevertheless, she would do her best… for Raoul and Mama Valerius… and for her father.

"You haven't had any formal training before, my dear?" Carlotta asked in a rather condescending tone.

"No, Madame… my father did teach me a little though…"

"Well… singing on stage at the Opera has nothing in common with singing on the streets. Now, we shall warm up first…"

And they did so. Christine was not surprised that Carlotta joined in the scales… obviously if she was teaching she would have to demonstrate and needed her voice to be warmed up. But she did have the distinct feeling that the woman was trying to drown her out, and it took a lot of self-control to prevent her from wincing as the notes became steadily higher and her teacher seemed to increase her volume more and more.

When the woman's back was briefly turned Christine reached up to her ear, hoping to dislodge the sudden ringing sound that had appeared there.

"Now, let's have a look at your stance…"

For the next few minutes Christine found herself poked and prodded, her limbs rearranged so that she felt like some kind of rag doll, until finally she had adopted a position that satisfied her teacher, although it was a little uncomfortable and made her feel ridiculous. Apparently she would get used to it as time went on.

"Bring your neck up, girl," her teacher said sharply, making a curt gesture. "The audience will want to see it…"

_Why? I'm a singer… not a show horse,_ Christine thought privately to herself. But she obliged, guessing that the woman knew what she was doing.

They began singing although Christine quickly realised that Carlotta was less interested in hearing her sing… and more concerned with demonstrating her own ability. She had to admit that the woman may well deserve her position as diva at the Opera. Apart from being beautiful, she her voice was for the most part, very lovely, although she seemed to screech the higher notes rather than sing them.

Christine tried her best to please and watched her closely for any signs of what to do but when her chance to sing came she felt like nothing she could do was any good.

"What a thin sound! You're squeaking like a mouse. That'll be no good on the stage… they would never hear you!"

Regardless of how true this was, Christine was not stupid, and knew that at this stage trying to project her voice too much would do more damage than good. She risked a little more volume and by the time they had finished she felt quite hoarse. Two glasses of water had been left for them, and she sipped at hers, hoping for some relief. She didn't dare push her voice further and the rest of her lesson was spent trying not to be too hurt by the remarks made by her tutor.

She was surprised to feel relieved when the lesson was over, and thankfully Carlotta left almost immediately, giving her only a few instructions and scales to practice. Raoul asked Christine to stay for a little while and brought her a cup of tea as she seated herself on the sofa in the drawing room.

"So, what did you think?"

Christine sipped her tea as she thought of how to respond to the question. She didn't really want to tell Raoul that, after all her initial excitement, she felt less than inspired by the lesson. Her neck felt sore from the position she had been forced to adopt, her throat felt raw and she was still shaking off the feeling of being looked down upon. Part of her wanted to speak up and try to have something done… change things before it was too late and she found herself in yet another inescapable situation.

But at the same time she was aware that Raoul had done her a great favour, and wanted the best for her. Maybe it was her own inexperience that was speaking out. It wouldn't be fair to act spoilt and ungrateful by saying she wasn't sure about the arrangement… she should give it a little longer before saying anything to hurt his feelings.

"It was fine," she said simply. "A little exhausting…"

"Well, it is early days, isn't it," Raoul pointed out, smiling. "But I'm sure in time you'll start to settle into it. Carlotta may be a little overbearing… but I've been told she was quite spectacular when she was in her prime. I'm sure you could learn a great deal from her."

"Yes, I'm sure," she agreed, taking another sip of tea. There was a silence as they both became lost in their own thoughts, wondering what to say next.

"How is Mama Valerius?" Raoul ventured to ask.

Setting down her cup on the tray, Christine gave a tiny shrug. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. Things will get easier, I hope… but right now…" she trailed off. She didn't really feel comfortable talking about this to Raoul. It didn't seem right to burden him with her problems… not after all his generosity. She also didn't want to risk him finding out about her pick-pocketing… or her very close brush with becoming…

She suppressed a shudder. _No_, she told herself. _Don't think about that now. Nothing happened…_

A voice at the back of her head reminded her that she had only Erik to thank for that mercy, but she pushed it aside, knowing it was true but not wishing to dwell upon the subject any further. This was not the time or the place.

Instead she endeavoured to talk about other things, and soon found herself relaxing again in Raoul's company. More than once she wondered how strange it was to be here with him, in such splendid surroundings… after so many years apart. But Raoul's familiar humour was a wonderful relief and she relished it all the way through their lunch together, until she finally convinced him to let her depart, since she had to go and work tonight.

"Until next week then?" he asked as she went down the few steps.

"Yes, of course," she told him with a bright smile. "Goodbye, Raoul."

"Goodbye."

* * *

**De Chagney House – Afternoon**

Raoul watched her go from the door, and then from the living room window, right up until she had disappeared around the far corner of the street. But he continued to watch after her, lost in thought.

She was different now… in a way that he couldn't place. She was still the same girl, sweet and innocent… gentle and thoughtful. She still had that stubborn streak, and the determination to do well.

But there was a strange darkness to her now, one that he hadn't seen when they were children. Perhaps it was to do with her father's death… and Mama Valerius' weak condition. He could understand that, although it saddened him to think that such terrible tragedies could befall someone who had never done a thing to deserve them. It was worrying… every now and then her eyes would cloud and he would feel her thoughts descend to somewhere he felt he might never be able to go.

That was what upset him the most… to think that there was a part of herself she couldn't share. He didn't like to think that they had grown apart over the years. Certainly in many respects it was as though nothing had changed at all. She would laugh and smile with him… blush and reminisce about all those times they shared as children… but there was so much in the past eight years he had missed. He didn't want that to come between them and their friendship.

Although, he admitted, he would be lying if he said that was all he wanted.

Even back then, when he was a young boy, he had somehow known that she was the one he wanted to be with. He had seen this tiny girl sitting in the damp sand, and her tears had beckoned him closer. She had tried to refuse his help, shy and innocent as she clutched at her injured foot. When she had tried to deny that anything was wrong, he had admired her, wanting to help her and know who she was. Their days together had been idyllic… he could not think of a time in his life when he had been happier.

From the beginning he had known that his parents would disapprove. In his youth they had indulged him, but after his Grandmother's death that had ended. It had been a convenient excuse to cut ties off with the Daae family. They had forbidden him from attempting to contact her, even writing a letter and, at that age, he didn't dare disobey. But he had continued to think of her, longing for her company as he was forced to socialise with the daughters of family friends, who held no interest for him whatsoever. Compared to Christine they had all been dull and none had quite the same spark of life as she had.

Now his parents spent most of their days in foreign parts… he barely heard from them except in letters. Only his older brother was around to disapprove of his actions, but Raoul had made sure that Christine would only be around when Philippe was out of the house, and the servants were all under strict orders not to utter a word about what was going on.

It was terrible of him… all this sneaking around. But he didn't care.

Of course he would never have told Christine any of this. It would probably have made her nervous… and she may well have dismissed the idea and thought it best that they remain apart. These music lessons were the only way he could ever have convinced her to come up to his family's home.

Not that he wasn't interested in making her a success, of course. He knew how important this was to her… he knew that she deserved to be in the Opera company more than anyone else in the world. If he could help her to make a better life for herself then he would.

He just wanted to be a part of that life.

* * *

A/N: Grrr... Another chapter without Erik and, even worse, it introduced Carlotta! Sorry about that... essential to the story and all that... but that doens't meanwe have to like it, lol. Don't worry... more Erik coming up soon, I promise. Thanks again for all the reviews... you're all super! 


	11. Vision of an Angel

Phew, it's been one crazy weekend for me. I got back to uni on Sunday only to have my laptop crash with ALL my work on it. AAGGHHH! Thankfully, as you can see, all was fixed and nothing was lost. A valuable lesson in making sure I update my back-up files more often.

So with that drama happily out of the way, here's the latest chapter for you all!

* * *

Chapter 10

**The Dancing Herald – Late Afternoon**

Closing the door to the little downstairs washroom, Christine lifted her dress over her head, removed her underclothes and stepped down into the luke-warm water. She had to bend her knees, so she was crouched in a not very comfortable ball in the wooden tub. Water splashed over the side and ran down towards the grill in the corner.

It hadn't been as last-minute as the previous time, for which they were all grateful. That morning the minstrel who usually played for Meg had sent a message saying he would not be able to come tonight, and Christine had been called up again to relive her former success. She had agreed without even a second thought, grateful that she had had a few days recovery from her music lesson, or she might not have lasted the performance without going hoarse again.

So now, with a few hours to spare, she had been instructed to have a good bath and get herself "clean and sparkling for the patrons" as the tapster had said. Appearances must be maintained and Meg had delighted in the opportunity to dress her friend up, although Christine had continuously pointed out that it was Meg everyone would be looking at, not her.

She picked up a cloth and the bar of soap left on the little stool. She couldn't remember the last time she had been able to have a good long soak and scrub. Usually it was just a quick dip in the water… that was all she ever seemed to have time for. Gratefully she began to rub herself all over with the soap, relishing in getting well and truly clean for once. She hummed quietly and, after a little while, ducked her head under the surface to wet her hair too.

She resurfaced to hear her name being called.

"Christine?"

Knocking the side of her head to get the soapy water out of her ears, Christine called to Meg to let her know she was inside.

"Alright… I'll just leave it hanging here."

The 'it' Meg referred to was actually one of her dancing outfits, which she had insisted Christine borrow for when she was on stage. She watched with a smile as Meg's pale arm appeared through a narrow gap in the door and hung a creamy-white dress on one of the wooden pegs. Thankfully, it appeared to be one of her more modest garments.

"Thank you, Meg. You really don't have to…"

"Of course I do!" said Meg's voice from the other side of the door. "You should look your best. I won't have you as just part of the background."

Christine felt her smile widen and shook her head. Meg was so eager for Christine to do well. She'd already tried to convince the tapster that Christine would be a far better musician than the minstrel they usually asked to play. But obviously he had not wished to dishonour his agreement with the man and besides… while her singing was very beautiful her guitar playing was not exactly refined.

It didn't bother Christine too much. She had practiced last night, and found that it was gradually becoming easier to remember the correct fingering and strumming needed for each song. With a little more time she might be reasonable enough for the tapster to consider taking her on full time. Until then… she was content just to help occasionally.

"Let me know when you're finished… I'll come and help you with your hair."

"Meg!" Christine exclaimed. This really wasn't necessary.

"Don't even try to argue with me, Christine Daae!"

Christine shook her head again. Meg was probably right… arguing would have been useless in the face of her enthusiasm. Sighing, she finished continued to wash herself vigorously, concentrating on her hair, which was a wet tangled mess. She raked her fingers through it to try and get rid of the worst knots.

She realised she was biting her lip and it wasn't because of pulling her hair. With a deep breath she tried to settle herself. Even after remembering her former performance, and practicing with the guitar, she was still feeling apprehensive.

Perhaps it was because of her music lesson the other day. Madame Carlotta's uninspiring teaching was weighing on her mind. But she felt a slight obligation to follow her tutor's instruction. She wondered if she should try and incorporate some of Madame Carlotta's teachings. It would be good practice, after all.

Which reminded her… she should probably warm up.

She began to slowly sing through her scales, not realising that the sound carried through the grill in the corner of the washroom, and was echoed throughout the sewers below.

* * *

**The Sewers**

Frustrated beyond all reasoning, Erik drove a fist into the wet stone wall.

He had been relatively successful in the past week or so with his resolve to stay away from Christine and not involve himself in her life anymore. His behaviour at their last meeting still plagued him and he had decided it should end before things got really out of hand. So he had avoided going to the Hanging Judge to look for contracts, and only used the sewers to move about… so he did not risk meeting her on the streets.

If he was entirely honest, it hadn't worked completely. Even without seeing her, he had been thinking about her constantly, although, as the days went by, he had begun to slowly handle his strange thoughts and feelings… suppressing them to the point where he could go about his life… and compose his music… without her voice and face distracting him.

And then, leaving his home to seek out a commission for the night, he had frozen in his tracks at the sound of gentle singing, resonating throughout the sewer system.

Once again, his resolve crumbled.

_Damn, damn… DAMN!_

It was as if the girl had been placed on the earth merely to torment him.

It was too late to try and ignore the sound. He was drawn to it… and found himself wandering the sewers in the direction of the Dancing Herald until he was standing by the grill through which her voice was emerging. He couldn't see her, but when he heard the splashing of water and realised where she was, he drew away, feeling suddenly ashamed for having invaded her privacy.

But he lingered nearby, listening to her sing… insatiably curious. Had she been to one of her lessons provided by that rich young man of hers? Was she performing at the tavern again? If so, it might be interesting to see.

Abandoning his original plan of finding work, Erik made his way aboveground, pulling himself up into the alleyway. The streets were still lit by the soft orange glow that followed the setting sun, but he remained inconspicuous, even as he was forced to enter the tavern via the main door, since he could hear voices in the kitchen and had no hopes of sneaking in that way.

The moment he was inside he retreated to a dark corner away from the other patrons, making sure the stage was in plain sight. With his acute hearing, he could still catch the sound of Christine going through her scales above the noise of the tavern patrons who sat around their tables, clutching their drinks and laughing amongst themselves. It was clearly a warm-up exercise she was doing… she must be performing tonight. He wondered if there would be any change in her performance… some indication of how well she was being taught.

He leant one elbow on the table, one hand resting against the mask as he listened and thought to himself. After a minute, a barmaid approached him to ask if he would like a drink, but he dismissed her quickly and angrily… and anyone else who tried to approach the table was repelled by the look in his eyes.

He was _not_ here to socialise.

_Then why are you here, you fool_, asked that contemptuous little voice.

It was simple curiosity, he told himself reassuringly. As a musician, he didn't see why it should be a crime to take an interest in another artist's ability.

After a few more minutes the singing stopped. He guessed that she was nearly ready to perform and shifted restlessly in his seat. He felt uncharacteristically anxious… impatient to see her perform and, no matter how he reproached himself, he was unable to calm himself.

Someone passed by his table and he looked up to make sure they did not stop. But instead of his stare making them quickly hurry away, the person stared back, with a look of familiarity that made Erik cringe just a little.

"Erik? I didn't expect to see you here."

Behind the mask, Erik's expression became one of intense annoyance. He didn't respond to the dark-skinned foreigner who had addressed him, turning his eyes back to the stage and keeping them fixed there. This was not what he wanted to deal with right now.

"May I sit down?"

Erik's made a dismissive sound to show he didn't care either way, although he did. He heard the scrape of a chair nearby as the man took a seat and removed his hat. They were silent for a time, but Erik was not optimistic enough to believe that they would remain so. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the man swipe some dust from his dark coat, and run a hand through his coarse black hair, flecked with silver that indicated his advancing years.

"It has been a long time," the man said finally.

"Not long enough," Erik replied caustically.

There was a short laugh. "I can see you haven't changed too much then."

Erik found himself wondering if that was an entirely accurate comment, given recent events. What would the man say if he heard about his recent behaviour? Deciding not to dwell on that particular question, he made yet another icy comment.

"Apparently neither have you, Nadir… you still manage to irritate me with your very presence."

"Is it that terrible to see me again?"

_Yes, it is,_ Erik thought to himself. It was bad enough he was having these attacks of unwanted emotion as a result of Christine's sudden appearance in his life… now he had to deal with the man who had appointed himself as Erik's moral dictator. True, Nadir Khan was rarely in the city, his business frequently forcing him to spend many weeks away… but he seemed to specialise in making a nuisance of himself when he was around, at least from Erik's point of view. He made it his business to know what Erik had been doing, which usually resulted in him attempting to admonish him for it.

Not that Erik ever listened. Although hearing his actions condemned was annoying, he never once felt the sting of guilt because of what Nadir said. He could quite happily have lived his life without him… nothing would have changed, except he wouldn't have to endure the man's moral lectures every few weeks. They were not friends after all... he tolerated the man's presence out of a sense of obligation… nothing more.

But Nadir's timing couldn't have been more aggravating.

There was a sudden commotion among the assembled patrons, and Erik stirred as he realised that the performance was about to begin, and he saw two distinctly female shapes emerge from the kitchens and head for the stage.

"I've heard many things about the dancer here… Meg, I believe."

Erik's hands tightened into fists.

"Apparently she's extremely talented."

Slowly, Erik tore his gaze from the silhouette he knew to be Christine, and glared at the man sitting opposite him.

"Nadir…" he said, in a very low and dangerous voice. "I have allowed you to sit here… and I will tolerate your presence at this table… but if you utter so much as a word during this performance I swear I will kill you. Do you understand?"

It was not an idle threat, and Nadir seemed to realise this, because a look of fear passed over his darkened features. Satisfied, Erik turned back to the stage, although he could sense the curious gaze of the other man. With hindsight, he knew his behaviour would prompt more questions, but that seemed unimportant right now. He wanted to watch and listen to Christine… that was the only important thing right now.

She and her companion had stepped into the light of the stage now, to a mild roar of appreciation from the crowd. Erik couldn't help but notice how she had been dressed up for the occasion and, in spite of himself, he admitted that she was breath-takingly beautiful. She was wearing a soft creamy-white dress that left her slender arms exposed. The material hung off one shoulder and fell down her back in a flowing cascade. Her long, silky hair was half up, a few tresses held in a simple silver headdress that glimmered in the lamp-light, while the rest hung down her back, shining like burnished gold.

She turned to cast a glance at her audience, her blue eyes wide with innocent nervousness… a pink hue of shyness in her cheeks, but a warm and happy smile touching her mouth.

Erik had never had cause to believe in angels… but at that moment, he knew what they must look like.

He watched her every movement intensely, oblivious to the dark-haired girl who stood at the front, ready to dance. His attention was solely on Christine as she settled herself on the stool and placed the guitar on her lap. After strumming a few experimental notes and blushing intensely at a few comments from the men in the audience, she said something to the other girl… no doubt the title of the song, and then straightened herself up.

Erik frowned slightly behind the mask. Her posture was all wrong… what did she think she was doing?

He was even more surprised when she opened her mouth to sing. Yes, her voice was still lovely… but there was also something strained and unnatural about it that almost made him want to cover his ears.

What kind of teacher had that rich boy acquired for her? He felt outraged at the thought that Christine's voice was being ruined by some fool who had no idea what to do when a perfect, natural talent fell into their hands.

He was relieved to see, as the evening drew on, that Christine seemed to tire of holding her awkward position, and that her voice quickly reverted back to being softer and sweeter, as it had been the first time he had heard her. Perhaps she too had realised something was amiss. At least the girl was clever enough to know that much. Soon Erik was able to settle back and merely enjoy the sound of her voice, although he locked away his questions about her new teacher's methods for a later date.

Yes, he admitted to himself dryly. He would speak to her later, if he had the opportunity… if only to find out who her tutor was… so he could go and strangle them.

He suppressed a chuckle at this delightful thought.

It seemed too soon when Christine rose to her feet and curtseyed gracefully beside her dancing companion. He watched her intensely as she descended the stage, expertly avoiding the lusty hands making drunken attempts to grab her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her skin glistened with sweat, but she was still achingly lovely, and her smile was so sweet and sincere…

She disappeared from sight, and Erik turned to see Nadir watching _him_ very closely.

"What?" he snapped irritably.

The foreign man leaned forward a little, as if doing so might help him to see Erik's thoughts. Erik had to force himself not to cringe away as he felt the man's curiosity rise to new heights.

"At first I thought you were here to watch the dancing girl… but you never even looked at her. Not once."

"Nadir…" Erik said, a note of warning in his voice.

"Who was the other girl? You seemed very interested in her performance. Do you know her?"

"That is not your concern," he hissed. But Nadir did not seem prepared to let the subject go.

"She does have a lovely voice… I almost suspected that she might be a pupil of yours… but that's not possible."

Unexpectedly, Nadir's words sent a little spasm of anger and regret through Erik. After witnessing that performance Erik now admitted he fervently wished that Christine _was_ his pupil. He didn't care if it was a foolish and impossible thing for him to want… he couldn't deny the fact that he wanted to be her teacher. At least then her talent would be in good hands…

_Good hands… hah!_

"She is not my pupil," he said after a pause, his voice harsh and strained in spite of his efforts to remain calm.

"But you do know her?"

"And what does it matter if I do?"

Of course, Erik knew the answer, and Nadir didn't bother with a reply. He was perfectly aware that Erik did not seek contact with the outside world, except in a professional manner. In fact, Nadir had been Erik's only contact with the world above ground that was not professional for many years… regardless of how unwanted that acquaintance was. And now suddenly he was skulking around in dark corners watching a beautiful young singer… of course Nadir was going to be suspicious. Of course it mattered… although the fact that it was considered such an unusual occurrence made Erik unexpectedly angry.

"You make it sound like I've committed some crime!" Erik snapped suddenly, answering an unspoken accusation. "I have every right to be here. These men," he indicated the drunken fools at the other tables, "are permitted to sit and watch the performance… why am I the only one who needs to be questioned for doing so?"

He could tell Nadir was taken aback by this defensive attitude. He was surprising himself, in fact. He had never attempted to justify himself to Nadir before. Why was he doing so now?

"Erik… are you alright?" Nadir asked, an infuriating expression of concern on his face. "This behaviour is very strange – "

"Why?" Erik suddenly shouted, standing up. "Why is it strange? Have I done anything wrong? Have I been _immoral_ perhaps? If that is what you think then why not reprimand everyone here? Why must I be treated differently? I'm a man, just – "

Erik stopped. The whole tavern was watching him as he shouted, but thankfully they assumed he was just another drunk who hadn't known when to go home. But it wasn't this that made him stop mid-sentence. It was the knowledge of what he had been saying… and what he'd been about to say.

_I'm a man… just like everyone else._

He had vowed never to think any such thing... let alone say it aloud in front of a crowd. He saw Nadir's expression, and knew that the man had realised what he had been about to say.

Without another word, seething with self-loathing, Erik turned to leave. He passed the tapster, who had witnessed his outburst and had no doubt been about to suggest he go home, and found himself pausing suddenly. He had not had anything to drink, but he reached into a pocket and brought out a substantial amount of money, which he slammed angrily down on the wooden bar.

"For your musician," he said curtly. He pulled his hood up to cover his head and rushed out of the door, shouldering people aside as he pushed his way out onto the street. Their angry shouts followed him, and he felt the sting of the insults as he hadn't felt them in years.

He ducked into an alleyway and leant against the wall, feeling the pulse at his temple hammer painfully against the leather of the mask, his cold skinunusually feverish in the cool night air. His fists clenched... his breathing grew ragged.

_What is wrong with me?_

_

* * *

_

A/N: Well... lots of Erik to make up for the last chapter... and Nadir is introduced! I hope Igot acrossthe point that he and Erik are NOT friends in this... and they never were, which seems weird but it's essential to Erik's character (as far as this interpretation of him goes, I mean). Hopefully the significance of this will make sense later on in the story, when more is revealed. Hope you enjoyed this... thankies for the reviews!


	12. Selfish Charity

Here we go again. Thanks for all the reviews for last time guys. **Gothic Tiger** - I think I mentioned in chapter 9 that Carlotta made Christine stretch ou her neck (basically lift up her chin, like you said) but I've included a bit of description in this chapter for you, just to nake it clear, k?

* * *

Chapter 11

**The Dancing Herald**

Christine swore she felt her backbone crack when Meg hugged her. They had both retreated upstairs to celebrate with Mama Valerius after the performance was over. They had left the old lady's door slightly open so she could hear everything, and Christine had rushed to her when she saw the dear woman had tears in her eyes. But the smile on her face was bright and happy as she embraced the girl.

"You were wonderful," she told her sincerely.

Christine shrugged modestly. "Well… I didn't start very well. But I think I improved as I went along." That was a slight understatement. After one song of trying to use the posture Madame Carlotta had taught her she had been close to giving up on the whole performance. Her neck had hurt from stretching it out and tilting her chin back… and her backbone felt as though it had been replaced by an iron bar. But, since she hadn't been able to stop, she had chosen to give up the posture instead. And because she hadn't wanted to strain her vocal chords, she had stopped trying to project her voice as well.

Perhaps with time and practice she would get used to it.

"Don't be silly," Meg was telling her. "You were superb."

"So were you, Meg. You had them all transfixed!"

They both laughed and hugged each other and Mama Valerius once more, when the tapster knocked on the door and asked to come in.

"Christine?"

She saw his rather serious expression and wondered what had happened, until he held something out to her. Frowning, she looked and was even more confused as he placed a rather generous amount of money in her hand. Yes, she had been told she would be paid but… this much?

"Isn't this too much?" she asked hesitantly.

"Actually, this is not your pay for tonight," he told her. "One of the patrons told me to give it to you… he must have been very impressed with you."

Yes, very impressed indeed. Meg occasionally received small present, flowers usually, but sometimes money… when someone was particularly pleased with her dancing. But Christine didn't imagine anyone ever gave this much. It was overwhelming.

"Are you sure it's alright for me to take this?"

"Well, it's a little late to try and return it," the man said. "The gentleman just handed it to me and left. Very odd man, if you ask me."

"Odd?" Christine asked suspiciously, suddenly having an idea of who it might have been.

"Yes… masked gentleman. I've never seen him in here before. He was sitting in the corner through the whole show… wouldn't let anyone serve him…"

Christine felt her hands trembling, and became increasingly aware that Meg was staring at her. Obviously she must have remembered the strange masked man that Christine had mentioned back when she had accidentally tried to pick Erik's pocket. She would have given a great deal to know what kind of ideas Meg was putting together from this information. Catching the other girl's eye, Christine shook her head just a little, silently asking her not to say a word just yet.

"Well… it was very kind of him," Mama spoke from her position on the bed.

"Mmm… very," Meg agreed, shooting Christine a look that quite plainly said 'I'd better get an explanation for this later'.

"Well… I just wanted to hand that over to you," said the tapster, backing out. "I'll leave you ladies in peace now."

And he left, shutting the door behind him.

"I wonder if we know the man," Mama Valerius wondered aloud, unable to see the looks the two girls were giving each other. "Could it be your young friend, Raoul?"

"No, Mama… why would Raoul be wearing a mask," Christine said, laughing off the idea and trying not to sound too nervous by doing so.

"Then who else might it be?" the old lady asked, not realising how uncomfortable Christine was becoming. "You don't know the man, do you?"

Christine felt herself blushing, and saw Meg's expression of curiosity intensify as she realised what it meant.

"You do?" Meg exclaimed before she could stop herself. Christine glared at her, but the damage was already done and Mama was struggling to sit up properly in bed, concerned yet eager to know who it was her little Christine had been seeing.

"I've only met him a few times, Mama," Christine insisted, not wanting her to think there was some kind of scandal involved. "He's… he's been very generous."

"So we can see," said Meg who, knowing the whole story, was even more intrigued than Mama Valerius.

"He heard me singing and said that I had potential." That was true, at least.

"But what kind of man is he? What is his name? Honestly, Christine… why didn't you say anything?"

She could tell that the whole matter was going to get out of control. She was dreadfully afraid of being forced to reveal everything to Mama about the things that had been happening, but Meg suddenly came to the rescue.

"She was probably too embarrassed," she said, casting a meaningful look at Christine. "You know how modest she is about such things."

This seemed to calm Mama a little, and she held Christine's hands as tightly as she could with her own. "Oh, dear… I'm sorry for making you tell. You know I worry about you so much… I hate to think of some unscrupulous man abusing your innocence."

Christine felt herself flush once again, even more intensely than ever, at this suggestion. No… it was certainly nothing like that. Besides… if Erik had any intention of… 'abusing' her he had had plenty of opportunity to do so. Of course, she couldn't explain that particular detail to Mama, so she merely said, reassuringly:

"No, Mama. I promise you… he is just a friend."

Although, she admitted, it was hardly what you might call a 'friendship'. But there seemed no other way for her to put it not without seriously worrying the dear lady. When Mama Valerius was finally convinced of this masked stranger's 'good intentions', the two girls left her to rest, and Christine found herself promptly dragged downstairs into the empty washroom.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Meg asked, staring accusingly at her friend.

"I didn't know how… honestly, Meg, how was I to know something like this would happen?"

"Well, it hardly seems to be a coincidence… one night you pick his pocket, the next he's giving you money for singing. What haven't you been telling me? I've got to know."

Christine did not relish informing Meg of the events of the past few weeks, but her friend gave her no other way out and so they sat down while Christine divulged the whole story, including how he had saved her from falling into the trap of prostitution. Meg's hand flew to her mouth on hearing this, but she could understand why Christine had not wanted anyone to know. She seemed almost as curious as Christine about the strange man's intentions.

"Maybe I was right…" she said after a pause. "Maybe he was swayed by your beauty and charms."

"Don't, Meg… it's not like that," Christine insisted, feeling herself blushing again.

"Then what is it like?"

"I don't know," Christine almost shouted, frustrated that she didn't have all the answers to her friend's questions. "It's just…" Sighing, she sat down on the little stool and put her head on her arms. "I don't know, Meg… he's so confusing. When I last saw him… at first he seemed concerned about me. But then when he left it was as if he hated me. And then today…" she shook her head and stared down at the money in her hand. "I can't accept this money from him… he's done enough for me, and I've done nothing to deserve it."

"Christine…if he liked your performance why shouldn't he leave you a gift to show it?"

"That is not the point! I can't live off other people's generosity like this."

"Christine…"

"No, Meg… please," she interrupted with a sigh of frustration. "Look, I have to go out tonight… if I don't I'm going to be in big trouble with Stefan. I'll talk to you about this later, alright?"

"Christine, wait!"

But she was already out of the washroom, and thankfully Meg decided to respect her wishes and not follow. Going up to her room, Christine quietly took off the cream-coloured dress and exchanged it for her usual, simpler one, removing the hair ornament as well. Grabbing her shawl as she went downstairs, she slipped outside and into the cold night. Erik's money she stowed away in her money-belt.

Why had he given it to her? It wasn't that she was ungrateful but… she desperately wished she could understand why. Even if he wished to help her, it wasn't right for her to accept this. It was wrong… an abuse of his generosity. And that was not the only thing. For some reason his continuing assistance worried her… she didn't know why. All she knew was that she felt uncomfortable with it... not just because of her stubborn sense of independence. No… there was something more to it than that…

She wouldn't have it. Someone had to draw the line somewhere. Once she had made enough to take to Stefan she was resolved to go down to the Hanging Judge and seek him out, so she could return the money. There was only so much charity she could handle.

The chilly night air helped to calm her a little, and staunched the hot, shamed tears that had been threatening to fall as she made her way along the streets towards the Lower City to look for people she could thieve from. Tonight she was really in no mood for this, but she had no choice. Stefan would not be satisfied if she only brought the money from performing at the tavern. He would expect much more… and she didn't want to deal with the consequences of disappointing him… not again.

A group of young men were gathered outside one of the brothels, talking with some of the women… negotiating, no doubt. With deliberate awkwardness she tried to push through them, apologising profusely to several of them as her fingers dipped into pockets and managed to withdraw one wallet and one pocket watch. She made it to the other side of the group and out of their sight with no trouble, putting her catch into her pocket with Erik's money.

She took a few minutes to rest and steady her heartbeat… no matter how many times she did this, it always sent a rush of fear through her… followed quickly by the rush of guilt.

_I hate this_… she said to herself, as if that would somehow make her less of a criminal.

After a time, she set off again, looking around for other people wandering the streets. A man rounded a corner up ahead and began to walk in her direction… and she could see the gleam of his pocket-watch chain in the street-light. She positioned herself so she walked nearby him, and pretended to trip…

… and something went wrong.

Instead of him grabbing her and setting her on her feet again, ignorant of the fact that her fingers had just invaded his pocket, he seized her hand and caught her in the act!

She froze in horror.

"Hah! Thought you'd get me with that old trick, did you?" he asked, squeezing her wrist until she cried out in pain.

"Please… I'm sorry."

"Yes, Missy… you will be… once I turn you over to the night-watchman. They cut your hands off for thieving, so I'm told," he told her with sadistic glee.

She felt the colour draining from her face.

"No… no, please…"

* * *

**The Lower City – Night**

He had been waiting for her to emerge from the tavern, even though he hadn't been certain she would. He had been half-way home before deciding to turn back and wait for her in the alleyway opposite the tavern… not entirely certain of his intentions. But recently he was unsure of everything, especially where she was concerned, so there was no change there. And anything was better than returning home to dwell on his thoughts… new thoughts which he knew he should not be having. It was ironic how it was Christine he now turned to for a distraction… when previously she had been the one he constantly tried to get out of his mind.

He tried not to think of that now, however, and waited with growing impatience for her to appear. But when she finally did, he chose not instantly alerted her to his presence, seeing the expression on her face… the confusion and anxiety, completely different from the elation he had seen before.

He followed her quietly… all the way to the Lower City. She must have been very wrapped up in her thoughts because she didn't notice him, or even feel that someone was following her. Instead she began to go about her work… pushing through a crowd of young upper-class gentlemen. He moved around them to follow her, losing sight of her briefly as she turned a corner.

When he finally caught up with her, she seemed to have got herself into some trouble. The man she had no doubt been intending to pick-pocket had caught her in the act, and was holding her tightly by the wrist, hissing threats at her while she cowered away and tried to free herself.

She cried out in pain and fear…

He had to resist the urge to charge straight up to the man and wrench him away from the poor girl. That damnable urge to protect surged up inside him, but he fought it back down, suppressing it. He thought of his moment of weakness before… when he had let himself believe that he really was a man like anybody else… as if such a thing could ever be possible. It was this girl's fault… she made him weak. She played on his mind and his senses…making him feel things when he should feel nothing.

She cried out again, sobbing and pulling against her captor… like a beautiful bird chained to a cruel master. In his mind, Erik saw her as she had been on the stage… that ethereal, angelic beauty… and her voice...

His fists clenched and he felt his jaw tighten.

But he still didn't charge in. The street was not entirely deserted, and it would be dangerous to risk a fight breaking out. That kind of thing would bring the night-watch running. He had to find some way of separating the gentleman, whose sense of justice was a little too macabre, from Christine.

Erik smiled behind the mask, and strode confidently over to the struggling pair. Christine did not notice him until he spoke, but he did not address her.

"What seems to be the trouble, sir?"

The gentleman, confused by the appearance of this stranger, frowned.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the night-watch man," Erik replied simply, ignoring Christine's look of confusion.

The man was clearly suspicious, looking him up and down carefully. "You don't look like a night-watch man."

"I'm a special classification… undercover, as you might say. Is this girl giving you trouble?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact… I caught her trying to lift my pocket-watch just now. Little thief." And he squeezed Christine's wrist, making her cry out again. Erik had to steel himself against the sound to maintain the pretence.

"Indeed… well, we have ways of dealing with pick-pockets." With this, he pulled the coil of rope from his pocket, and at the sight he saw Christine's face grow even paler.

"If you'll allow me to take her off your hands, sir," Erik said, gripping Christine's other wrist tightly and beginning to tie her hands together with the coil of rope. Christine's expression became more horrified by the second. She was too terrified to speak so, while the man's eyes were intent on the rope, Erik managed to catch her eye and inclined his head just slightly, in an attempt to reassure her that it was an act. He saw the fear in her eyes recede, although she kept her expression of pure terror fixed in place.

_Good girl_, Erik thought to himself

"I shall make sure that justice is served."

The man seemed a little reluctant to let her go, but Erik gave him a long, hard stare from under the mask, brushing past him to step between him and Christine. Eventually the man agreed and stepped away, apparently unaware that something was amiss. With a devilish smile Erik turned his attention back to the coil, pulling the loop of catgut tightly, leaving a length of it for him to hold onto. With that Erik began to lead Christine away like a dog on a leash. Playing her part, she made an act of attempting to struggle, and he yanked on the rope a little in response… more harshly than he intended…

When they were out of earshot of the gentleman, Erik finally spoke to her, without looking around.

"You do seem to get yourself into the most awkward situations," he told her.

He glanced back and saw the relief flood her delicate features as she dropped the façade. "Oh… I was so worried for a moment. I thought you were…" she trailed off, lowering her head, but Erik knew what she must have been thinking. He found himself smiling behind the mask.

"Do I make such a convincing authority figure?" he asked lightly. Christine gave him a nervous smile and he fixed her with a steady look. "No, Christine… I would not have allowed anything to happen to you." She looked at him and, suspecting that she might read too much into that statement, he added: "Besides… I don't think there is a large market for one-handed musicians."

She gave another small smile at that, less timid this time. He led her quietly into a dimly lit alleyway, and began to untie her hands carefully.

"Thank you so much," she said softly as he moved his fingers over the knot. "I don't know what I would have done if…" Again she trailed off, and Erik nodded, knowing what she meant to say, and not really wishing to hear it. He felt self-conscious enough without her growing so emotional. There was a moment of silence before he heard her take a sharp breath as he removed the coil, and realised that a red mark had been left on her pale wrists.

"You're hurt…" he said, before he could stop himself. He found himself reaching to touch her, but pulled back when she rubbed her own wrists, holding them tight against her chest.

"It's alright…" she gave a small laugh. "It's preferable to have my whole hand cut off."

"Indeed," he agreed with her, though inside he felt a sting of anger towards himself that he had hurt her. He should have been more careful… even if it had been necessary to act harshly to help her escape. There was a moment of awkward silence, and Erik once again berated himself for behaving in this way. Earlier he had been denying to Nadir that there was anything worth mentioning between himself and this girl. Now he was acting like a complete fool because of her.

Well… he was certainly getting used to _that_.

"Actually… I'm glad to see you," she said suddenly, catching him completely off guard. She seemed to be quite good at doing this. The mask hid his surprise, but he couldn't think of a response to this statement. No one, to his knowledge, had ever been glad to see him, and he waited to hear her reason.

"I wanted to return this to you."

He watched as she produced from her pocket some money, and he realised instantly that it was the same money he had left with the innkeeper to give to her. She held it out to him, clutched in her delicate fingers, and he merely stared at her, unable to fathom why she would want to return it.

"It's yours," he stated bluntly. "Keep it."

"I can't," she insisted, looking a little distressed at his refusal. "I've… I've already accepted too much from you. It wouldn't be right for me to – "

"No, Christine," Erik interrupted, speaking a little more forcefully. "That money is yours. And I have no intention of taking it back."

"But I can't," she said, desperately, her expression pleading with him.

Why did she have to be so damn stubborn? And why did she have to look at him like that… with those innocent eyes that were tinged with fear? No doubt she suspected some disgusting ulterior motive to this act, and he recoiled at the idea and shook his head as she once again tried to hand the money over to him.

"Listen…" he said as sternly as he could. "I know what you are thinking, but you are very much mistaken. I am not giving you this money out of simple charity, Christine. You will _need_ this if you expect to become a part of the Opera."

She frowned up at him. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. Why couldn't she just accept the money and have done? Why must he have to explain himself?

"I think you still do not fully grasp the seriousness of your situation," he told her. "Your foolish involvement with Stefan could be your undoing. You think he will not send you out on the streets of the Pleasure District again? Believe me… if he thinks you will earn more money that way, he will. And if that happens, your hopes of becoming a star are lost. The Opera does not employ prostitutes."

He saw her blush furiously at his words, but she had wanted his reasons, and he had told her. This was not a time to spare her embarrassment.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause as he watched her take this in. Finally she spoke. "But why are you…?" she stopped, unable to finish the question.

He sighed once again, and looked up at the sky, avoiding that innocent look. How was he supposed to answer her when he barely understood himself his reasons for doing this?

"Music is very important to me, Christine," he said softly, hardly aware that he was speaking aloud. "It is one of the few things I take pleasure in." Why… why was he telling her this? These thoughts were his… his alone. What was making him share them with this girl? But he found that, once started, he could not stop. "The thought of a voice as unique as yours being wasted… I simply cannot stand by and let something like that happen. So I will help you. You may consider my motives selfish, if you wish, but it would give me great pleasure to see you performing at the Opera, knowing that I had some part in placing you there… so that you could give the world something that they have never heard before."

It was a small part of the truth, and confessing that made Erik wonder if there was not more to this whole situation that he dared not allow himself to contemplate. Perhaps Nadir had been right to suspect something… perhaps there was more to this than simply wishing for Christine to live up to her potential… so that he could enjoy the full extent of her talent and satisfy his taste for beauty, something he had only ever been able to experience through music.

He lowered his gaze, and his eyes met Christine's once more. He was surprised to see that there were unshed tears in her eyes. Somehow, he felt that she understood exactly what he had said… that music meant almost as much to her as it did to him. His chest tightened… the atmosphere thickened.

Apparently lost for words, she lowered the hand holding the money to her side, bowing her little golden head. Perhaps he had told her too much. He was not used to speaking with people in this way… had he gone too far? Was there anything he could say to drag them out of this pit of awkward silence? He would have to try… it was becoming unbearable.

"Your voice would certainly be an improvement over the talent currently favoured at the Opera," he said abruptly.

There was a pause, and for a moment he thought he had only made matters worse with this caustic statement, until she raised her head a little to look at him and he saw a delicate little frown crease her forehead. "You don't mean… Carlotta Gudicelli?" she asked.

He was quite surprised she knew the name. "Yes. You have heard of her?"

Her mouth twisted into an almost apologetic smile. "She's… she's my tutor."

It took a moment for her words to fully sink in. When they finally did he let out a loud exclamation that was half amused and half bitterly angry. Christine jumped at the sound, but he was too caught up in the irony of what she had just told him.

"Well… that would certainly explain thing."

Once again she frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the ridiculous posture you tried to maintain this evening… and how you seemed to be shrieking rather than singing, at least to begin with." He shook his head in frustration. "Of all people to be your tutor…"

She tilted her head and folded her arms in a gesture of defiance. "I take it you do not approve," she said, speaking with a slight edge of annoyance to her voice.

"I would be more 'approving' if your training were in the hands of a performing monkey!" he told her succinctly.

There was a silence, and he wondered for an instant if he had offended her in any way. But when he looked at her, she was wide-eyed with surprise. She spluttered in shock…

… and then began to laugh.

It was the first time he had truly heard her laugh, full and real… and only for him to hear. He was not accustomed to making people laugh, at least not in the sense that they were laughing _with_ him. He would never have expected to find himself in the presence of a beautiful, talented young girl, making her laugh because of some scathing remark he made about her tutor.

In spite of himself, he felt his mouth twist into a smile behind the mask, and then found that he was laughing quietly with her. Her humour was almost contagious, and soon the tense atmosphere had evaporated, leaving him feeling as though some kind of unseen wall had been knocked down.

"You're right…" Christine told him, wiping a tear of laughter away. "I couldn't bring myself to say anything but…" She giggled softly again. "So, you've seen her perform?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he chuckled.

"Apparently she was very good when she was in her prime."

He shook his head, marvelling at how she was still trying to find something nice to say about the woman who was ruining her voice.

"Yes… it's simply a shame she did not realise when she was no longer _in_ her prime."

Christine laughed again, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. She seemed relaxed, as if a sudden weight had been lifted from her mind, and Erik could not help feeling satisfied that he had helped her in this regard.

"So she's not the best person to teach me," she asked, turning a little more serious now.

"From watching you tonight… no, I think not."

Christine nodded, and her saw her bite her lip. Suddenly she had grown worried again, and he bent is head to catch her eye.

"What's the matter?"

"It's just… if what you say is true then… how am I ever going to be good enough to be part of the company?"

She had a point and a conflict was ignited inside Erik's head.

_You could teach her…_

_Don't be such an idiot…_

_Think of that voice… under your guidance…_

Yes, he could well imagine how wonderful she would sound if he chose to teach her. But as much as Erik would have relished the opportunity, he was not quite sure enough to make her such an offer. There was still a substantial part of him that scoffed at the idea… and told him that he should not be here standing in this alleyway, talking to this pretty young girl who, had she any real idea who he was, would want nothing to do with him.

But that part of him was growing weaker and, feeling a newborn instinct… the one Christine herself had created… rise inside him, he needed to offer her some kind of reassurance. He reached out and very gently rested the tips of his fingers against the curve of her elbow, not taking his gaze away from her face. She looked at where he touched her, and then into his yellow eyes, but she did not move away, or tell him he was acting inappropriately, so he did not pull his hand back.

"Christine… I promise you everything will be alright… in time."

They continued to look at each other, and he felt the atmosphere thicken once more, but for a different reason this time. He couldn't tear himself away from her eyes… that looked so sad and asked desperately for reassurance that deep down he wished he could give her… but hadn't quite the courage.

_Why am I afraid of her?_ He asked himself suddenly.

The thought pulled him back from whatever trap he had almost fallen into, and he broke their contact, trying not to think of how he had felt her warm skin through the fabric of his gloves. Yes, he admitted… somehow, because of her, a wall had been broken inside him. But while he could imagine what lay on the other side… he was not ready to cross this new threshold. Something still held him back… and he knew what it was.

Suddenly his mask seemed to burn painfully against his skin.

He saw her shiver, and realised that she seemed to have lost her shawl during her struggle with that man from before.

"Come… you should not be out in the cold," he told her sternly. Then he found himself saying, as if by instinct: "Let me take you home."

How ridiculous that sounded. He was all but begging her to _let_ him escort her. As if she would accept… after all, she had refused the last time he had been idiotic enough to ask… _damn it, you fool…_

"Alright."

He stiffened, unable to quite believe what he had just heard. Had she accepted? Was she trying to make him look even more of an idiot?

But when he looked at her, her face in the dim light was sincere and calm. It was even, dare he imagine… a little trusting. Perhaps she was not quite as sensible as he had first thought… if she felt she could place her trust in _him_. He was a killer, after all… surely she was not naïve enough to believe otherwise. What was this girl doing?

_What, for that matter, am **I** doing?_

Doing his best to hide his uncertainty, Erik gestured for him to walk beside him, feeling that offering her his arm was taking things one step too far. They began to make their way through the streets, heading in the direction of the tavern… not exchanging a word… each one locked in their own private thoughts… both equally unsure of their situation, if only they had known it.

Erik stole a glance at her. She was hugging herself tightly, trying to guard against the cold. Every now and again she would shiver a little. He imagined offering her his coat… and sneered at himself angrily for thinking such a stupid thing.

They arrived at the back entrance to the tavern, and Christine turned to him, thanking him sincerely for what he had done for her. He dismissed it casually but, before he said goodnight, he reached into his pocket and held something out to her. Frowning, she took it, and her expression changed to one of surprise as she realised what it was.

"You…"

He smiled wryly behind the mask. "Obviously he wasn't quite sharp enough to catch _me_ in the act."

She looked down at the silver watch glinting in her hand, momentarily lost for words. But, when she looked up to thank him once again, Erik had already vanished from sight, lost like a shadow in darkness.

* * *

A/N: Well... there for you have it. That E/C interaction you wanted, lol. This was a tricky conversation to write... neededa lot of work but hopefully I got it right. I like that Erik took the guy's watch... thought it would be fun to have him do that. They're starting to be on more familiar terms now so things are going to get quite interesting, as you will see in the next chapters, hehehe.

Speaking of new chapters... don't be suprised if I'm later updating next week (and possibly the week after) because it's assessment week at university and I might be a bit busy. Just wanted to warn you all. See you next time!


	13. The Fight

Well, hello once again. Sorry for no update last week... I did warn you though. The good news is that now I've got a few months of (hopefully) uninterrupted vacation time, which means there should be no more missed updates.

So... here's the latest chapter.

* * *

Chapter 12

**The Slums - Evening**

A few days later, Christine once again found herself making her way to the Hanging Judge, eager to get the whole messy business of seeing Stefan out of the way for another week at least. She kept looking down at her money belt, and the small bundle clasped in her hands, imagining what was in there, and shaking her head in disbelief.

Yesterday she had been to the Upper City for yet another lesson from Madame Carlotta. After her conversation with Erik, Christine was far less inclined to believe anything the woman told her, especially in regard to stance and projection. As a result, she had been reprimanded quite severely for 'not paying attention', and had finally settled for obeying, at least to some degree… just so she wouldn't send the diva away in a tantrum. She was actually rather surprised this didn't happen… Madame Carlotta seemed to be just that kind of person.

Once again it was only her talk with Raoul afterwards that had brought her spirits back up again, although she couldn't help but feel guilty for lying to him when he asked if everything was alright with her new teacher. A part of Christine wanted to be honest with him and explain that things were probably not going to work out well… but he always seemed so enthusiastic, and she couldn't quite bear the thought of him thinking he had failed her.

Of course, this still left her with the problem of a teacher who hadn't the faintest idea of what she was doing.

Christine found herself thinking about Erik's reassurance that night… how he had told her everything would be alright. A part of her wanted to believe him. But how in the world could he know that everything would turn out alright? Or was he just trying to be nice?

She felt a wry smile tug her mouth. When she thought of Erik, 'nice' was not a word that immediately sprang to mind. Cold, dark, mysterious… now all these were suitable to describe him. Even in spite of his actions, he didn't strike her as a person who was naturally 'nice'… which in a way made his behaviour towards her very confusing. Was he like this with everyone, she wondered… thoughtful one moment then bitter the next?

She shook her head. He certainly was a strange man. But interesting… in a frightening kind of way.

The Hanging Judge came in sight, and she steeled herself to go inside.

She was shown over to Stefan's table, but was suddenly aware of a very tense atmosphere in the tavern. The sound seemed muted, somehow. In one corner, a group of men were huddled around a table, deep in conversation over their game of cards. A cloud of dark suspicion hung over them as they watched each other with darkened eyes. Instinctively Christine drew away and turned to look for Stefan . He was talking with some of his own gang as she wordlessly took a seat near him, waiting for him to take note of her presence. When he looked at her, it sent a little shock through her body, and she tensed up. That look… she recognised it, and she knew it was not a good thing.

"Well," he sneered at her. "Nice ta see ya."

There was a nasty tone in his voice, making Christine even more wary. Panic seized her as she wondered if Stefan had suddenly found out what Erik had done to help her, not once now but twice. She had gotten away with it last time… Stefan had jeered at her and humiliated her for what she had apparently done for the money, and she had withstood it only because she knew the truth. But what if Stefan knew? What kind of punishment could she expect to receive?

"What ya got this time?"

She looked up. Surely, if he knew something, he would have mentioned it instantly. Maybe she was safe after all. But she knew better than to let her guard down completely so she kept her face as controlled as possible, pulling her money belt out and emptying the contents, following it quickly with the bundle of stolen trinkets. She watched as Stefan sifted through it, and tried not to feel too optimistic when he seemed a little impressed.

She was right to be on her guard. She watched as his expression curled up into a disgusting leer, and readied herself for the onslaught.

"Done well, here. Been keepin' them happy, have ya?"

She could feel the strain. It was horrible… to be mocked in this way, regardless of whether anything had actually happened. But she could practically see him picturing things in his filthy mind, and it brought a tight lump to her throat.

"Makes ya wonder why ya never tried it before? Probably makes ya want to give up on singin' in pubs, eh? Start a new career?"

Each question was like being stabbed by a particularly sharp needle, and it was incredibly hard for Christine not to react to it. Her fingers twitched in her lap, curling into little pale fists as her righteous indignation screamed at her to defend herself. But she knew that doing so would only make matters worse.

"May I go please?" she asked in a quiet voice.

Stefan settled back in his chair, and she could feel him grinning, enjoying her humiliation. She could only be glad that he didn't suspect the real reason for it. Finally, after he seemed to have got his full quota of sick enjoyment, he took some of the money and counted it out for her. She watched him, noting with weary disgust that it was, in relation to what she had given him, a pitifully small amount.

"There ya go, darlin'. Have a good week."

From anyone else, it might have sounded much friendlier. But this was Stefan, and she could feel his mockery in every word. Taking the money, she stowed it away in her money belt and stood up to go. Someone shoved past her, and she flinched away, not appreciating nearly being knocked to the floor. She glared at the man's back as he made his way to a table, where his 'friends' were still having their argument over the card game.

She looked just beyond them, and saw a familiar shape leaning back in the shadows.

It was Erik… and he was watching her.

When had he come in? She hadn't seen him on her way in, not that she had been looking, of course. He must be here on business too.

After a few minutes of watching each other, she swore she saw him nod. Was he greeting her? It was such a simple motion… it could have meant anything, but it made her feel as though she had support. Of course, she always had support from Meg and Mama Valerius… and Raoul too. But this place… somehow it made her feel as though she was the only person in the world… and no one was on her side.

Not anymore though.

Feeling uplifted, she took a step in the direction of Erik's table, and just as she moved past the group of men playing cards, chaos broke out.

The first thing she heard was the scraping of a chair, in close harmony with an angry, drunken shout. She jumped back as several other men at the table followed suit, and her eyes widened as one man launched himself across the table to tackle the man right beside her. He didn't make contact with her, but this was only because she flung herself to the side, landing on the wooden boards hard enough to give a cry as pain shot up her side.

Above, the violent disagreement had erupted into a full-scale brawl of the worst kind. Drunken men, unable to clearly distinguish friend from foe, scrambled with each other, lashing out in all directions. There were screams from the whores, who retreated upstairs to safety, and more shouts as others leaped into the frenzy.

Someone threw a punch, knocking a man to the ground, and it was only through quick reflexes that she managed to avoid being pinned under him when he collapsed. As fast as she could, she crawled under a nearby table, looking everywhere for a way out. But the fight had spread and the only way to get to any of the exits was to go past the men. In horror she watched as one man was grabbed by his shirt front and slammed on top of the table _she_ was cowering under.

"Christine!"

She heard her name, and felt a rush of hope as she recognised the voice.

"Erik!"

She could see him now, attempting to cross the room to reach her. He skilfully evaded a punch from one drunkard, propelling him expertly into a wooden support, where he slumped to the floor. She screamed at him in warning when a couple of men, grappling blindly with each other, nearly collided with him. But he made it to the table unhurt, and reached underneath to take hold of her arms. She found herself instinctively clinging to him, and his arm circled her shoulders in a way that, to her, seemed almost protective.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Stay close to me," he told her over the noise around them. She nodded, and clung even tighter as he began to lead her as quickly and safely as he could towards the back door to the tavern. Every time someone came near his grip tightened around her.

She looked behind them.

"Erik, look out!"

She saw him turn, and then the world became a blur as she was pushed violently to one side, out of the reach of the drunken brute who, for no reason, had launched himself at the two, screaming curses through a mouth already full of blood and broken teeth. But, in the moment he had taken to get her out of harm's way, Christine saw that Erik was not fully ready to defend himself, and the other man had succeeded in gripping his arms. She looked around her. The back door was close and she could easily have made it to safety, but she couldn't bring herself to leave knowing that Erik was in danger. Rising to her feet, she picked up an overturned chair, ready to bring it down on the man's head as his back turned to her.

But before she had the chance, she saw the man lose his grip on Erik's arms, and as he fought for another place to grab, his fingers found the mask covering Erik's face. There was nothing that could be done to stop him as he pulled, and fell back as Erik lost his own hold, trying to clutch the mask back…

But it was too late, and Christine felt every limb in her body go stiff, as if she were encased in iron.

She saw Erik's yellow eyes catch hers… staring at her out of a face she would never have imagined seeing, except in a nightmare. His skin was a horrible, greyish yellow… stretched thinly across the skull. Oh god, she could _see _the shape of his skull, as though he had no muscle beneath that skin. It was little more than a membrane, pulled taut over the bone. His cheeks, even his eyes, were sunken into his face… there was no nose… only a gaping hole where it should have been… and his mouth was twisted grotesquely, the lips shrivelled and cracked.

It was like looking at a corpse… but a living corpse, displaying real human emotion in spite of its horrific appearance.

She felt his eyes staring at her, but all she could see was the horror that had been unveiled.

Her throat was too tight to scream, but the sound threatened to explode from her chest as the chair fell from her hands, which suddenly felt weak and numb. She backed against the wall of the tavern, feeling her breath catch painfully at the back of her throat. That was the only sound… the whole tavern had fallen suddenly silent, as people realised what had been revealed. They all stared… shocked… horrified… disgusted.

Her body's instincts took over. Her muscles broke free of the terror, and she fled, pulling open the back door to the tavern and running away into the night, her scream escaping only as frantic sobs as she ran and ran, only coming to a stop when she felt about to collapse from lack of air, her heart hammering against her ribs. She squeezed her eyes shut, and then they went wide again as that terrifying face caught up to her, and she covered her mouth as her stomach heaved violently.

And then she covered her face desperately, as if doing so would, somehow, block out the memory of Erik's.

* * *

**The Hanging Judge**

All he could do was stare at the empty space where she had been standing, staring at him with that look of open-mouthed horror.

He had not expected to see her here tonight, but he did not lie to himself and say he was angered by her presence. It had been strange… it was the first time she had recognised him without that first, instinctive fear in her eyes. He had nodded at her as a way of greeting, but he'd never expected her to approach him… not in front of so many people.

And then, in a blur of motion, the fight had broken out and he had seen her in danger. At first he hadn't been certain what to do… where she had fallen… He heard her cry out and it evoked a response in him, just like when she had been caught pick-pocketing.

He had called out her name, forgetting all pretence at being distant and cold, even with so many people around to see. And when he heard her shout back to him he'd lost no time in finding her. It had shocked him when she clung onto him so tightly. He had only had a brief moment to take in her closeness… and her little warm hands clutching at his coat… then he had forced himself to be blank towards it. Getting her out was the important thing… making certain she was safe…

And things had gone wrong… so wrong… The other man had come out of nowhere… he had no time. And then he'd felt the rush of air on his bare skin… he had seen the horror on her face.

He couldn't move. He could feel others watching him… but all he could do was stare at where Christine had stood, as if she were there still… looking at him as though he were the devil himself.

"My god… he's a freak!"

He didn't know who spoke the words, but it sent a violent fury pulsing through him, and his control snapped.

His eyes flicked to the mask, still held in the other man's hand. As his hands curled into fists, his breath became ragged, building up until he unleashed a roar of anger and unspeakable pain as thousands of memories he had tried so desperately to quell came rushing back to him, flooding him with hatred. He charged at the man opposite him, overpowering him as his body surged with adrenaline, and his hands locked on his neck. He stared down at the man's skin changed colour and he tried hoarsely to scream through the choking grip.

The man died under his hands, and he didn't care. He was so filled with rage and hate… he wanted to kill and kill… destroy everything around him. Snatching his mask from the man's limp hand he replaced it as he rose shakily to his feet. No one had tried to restrain him… too afraid… too _disgusted_ to even come near him, he supposed. He glared at them, seething with anger.

There were too many of them… far too many for him to take on alone. He saw the bloody fight inside his mind… the carnage as he delighted in silencing these men who had looked upon him. He wanted to make certain that they never told anyone… so no one living knew…

_There's too many of them…_

He walked to the door… the same door that Christine had left through. He was so angry he nearly ripped the iron hinges from the wood as he pulled it open. He stepped out into the cold, and caught himself looked around.

_Fool… do you really think she'll be here, waiting for you?_

He descended… down into the sewers, as far away from the world as he could think to go, and as he walked he found his anger giving way to a deep and binding darkness… empty of everything but wretched despair. He found that, just as on their first meeting, he was haunted by her innocent face. He could see it vividly… the fear and horror. It was worse now… far worse. Last time, he had wanted to frighten her… teach her a lesson. But now…

He reached up to touch the mask. He wanted to be certain it was still there, even if no one was down here to see what lay beneath. His breathing became ragged again as old memories rushed back… the sound of screams… mocking laughter… chains…

Suddenly every part of him seemed to burn. The cloth wrapped around his neck choked him and he clawed it away, feeling the scar-tissue that lay hidden beneath.

The chains…

He had never wanted to relive such memories. And now he realised what a fool he had been… to associate with the girl when it could never have led to anything except this. She had made him vulnerable… allowing him to be exposed to the humiliation. His idiotic delusions of putting her on the stage… what difference would they make? It wouldn't change anything… he would still be this monster. This… _freak_.

He thought he had come to terms with that. He had believed himself free of the human world. If he was a monster… then that was what he would be, he had told himself.

What had changed?

_Nothing_, he told himself as firmly as he could. _Nothing has changed. You made a mistake… but it is over now. It will never happen again. You will never need to feel weak and foolish again. It's over._

"It's over," he whispered aloud. "It's over."

* * *

A/N: Okay... was anybody actually expecting this? Hehe... I wanted to be a little different from Il Mio and have the unmasking happen quite suddenly, rather than have a big build up. What do you think? And I stayed with the original Leroux description (the best, in my opinion). So... what's going to happen now? Have to wait and see. Thanks for all your reviews... keep them coming and I'll see you next time!


	14. Blind Guilt

Ooh... okay. I'm so happy with how the last chapter was recieved. It got exactly the kind of reaction I was hoping for. Fingers crossed that this chapter will do the same.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 13

**Nowhere**

Christine ran for the door at the end of the little corridor and seized the handle. But no matter how hard she pulled, and no matter how much she pummelled her fists against the wood, the door wouldn't budge.

She was trapped.

_Christine…_

Behind her, a voice hissed her name. She turned, cowering against the door, to face the monstrous thing before her.

It was Erik. He strode towards her like a ghost, or some undead creature, his mask gone to expose his twisted face. He was so close she could see every minute detail of his tortured skin. The shrivelled flesh, covered in tiny pulsing veins… the misshapen lips… and his eyes, rolled in the sockets as he hissed and spat venomously at her. And as he drew nearer and nearer he seemed to grow, or perhaps it was her shrinking away… until she could see nothing except him and that face. She cried out in terror and wished she could cover her eyes, but something seemed to hold them against her sides, so all she could do was stare back into those glowing yellow orbs… cower under that accusing stare.

_Christine… why did you run?_

"Erik! Please stop!"

_Why did you run?_

"I'm sorry! Please!"

His face was drawing closer… if she had reached out she would be able to touch it. But instead she shrank further away. She couldn't bear the hatred in those eyes… the sense of judgement everywhere around her. The growing certainty that she had done something unforgivable.

The face came closer… it was going to smother her. She covered her nose and mouth as the stench of death filled the air.

She couldn't move… she couldn't breathe…

She woke up.

* * *

**The Dancing Herald - Morning**

Sitting up suddenly in her little cot bed, Christine felt her chest constrict painfully around her lungs and heart, squeezing them. Her body was covered in sweat and she struggled to breathe. When she reached up, her face was soaked with hot tears and, in spite of herself, a loud sob escaped her throat as the dream came rushing back to her, and the memory of last night.

"Christine?"

For one awful moment she thought it was Erik speaking her name, but when she turned she saw the familiar shape of Mama Valerius, sitting up in her own bed, looking worried and pale. She called out again, and Christine struggled to pull herself out of bed and over to the lady's side.

"Mama… I'm here."

"I heard you cry out… what's the matter?"

"I had a bad dream, that's all," Christine told her, trying to make light of the situation. But the dear woman sought her hands, and held them between her own.

"Oh, Christine… your hands are like ice!" She reached out and touched the girl's cheek. "And you've been crying. Oh, my dear… it must have been a terrible dream. What happened?"

"I can't tell you, Mama," Christine said, trying to pull her hands away. She was shivering all over as she remembered, and did not wish to explain her dream aloud. But in a surprising display of strength, the old lady held on tightly.

"Was it about your father?"

Christine felt herself shudder again. It was typical of Mama Valerius to presume that she had been crying over her father. It had happened before, when Christine had vivid dreams of him lying in bed, sick and dying. Yet somehow even hose dreams paled in comparison to this one because, as inhuman as Erik's face had been, it was real. That was his real face… real flesh and bone.

Her entire body convulsed in disgust and horror.

"No, it wasn't about father. Please don't make me tell you…"

Mama was silent, realising that something was terribly amiss with the young girl. Squeezing her hands, she leaned forward.

"But there is something else, isn't there? Something troubling you. Do you want to talk about it?"

Hesitating, Christine wondered about the wisdom of explaining her encounter with Erik to Mama Valerius. It seemed unwise… after all, she didn't want to frighten the poor woman, not in her weak condition. But yes, there was something amiss. Even in the dream, Christine could remember the surge of guilt she felt about her reaction towards Erik's face. But… no one could blame her for that, surely? How could anyone look at that face and not be frightened?

"Mama…" she said finally, picking her words with care. "If someone you knew… a… a friend, perhaps. If a friend of yours had a secret… something they had been hiding from you, and then one day you found out what it was. What would you do?"

She watched the lady's expression, sensing that she was trying to work out why Christine would be asking this question in the first place. She thought hard for a few moments, then asked:

"What kind of secret?"

"Something about who he is," Christine said, realising too late that she had said 'he'. She saw Mama Valerius' expression change ever so slightly, but other than that she made no comment.

"Well… I suppose it would depend. Does it change the kind of man he is?"

Christine felt herself stiffen as a surge of guilt swept over her yet again, and she realised the reason for it. No… Erik's face did not change the fact that he had been kind to her. It did not change the fact that he had protected her… saved her on more than one occasion.

Did it make him a bad person?

"No… I suppose it doesn't," she admitted quietly.

"Then it's something about him physically?" the old lady asked. Christine felt herself blush a little, knowing what Mama must be thinking, but she was surprised when the lady continued.

"That's one of the few blessings of being blind, my dear. You tend not to worry about what people appear to be. Eyes are tricky things sometimes… they'll show you a handsome face, but they can't tell you if it's a kind man you see, or a wicked one. In the same way… they might show you some unattractive fellow… and you'll be too caught up in revulsion to realise what a beautiful person he is inside."

Mama Valerius' words hit their mark, and Christine's sense of guilt escalated. She felt shallow and cruel for having reacted in such a way to seeing Erik's face. But was it really all her fault? She hadn't expected anything like this. She had thought the mask was just a means to hide his identity… so that he would carry out his work anonymously. She had never imagined that there would be another purpose for it… that he had good reason to hide his identity from the world.

But even as she told herself this, she knew it did not justify her running away from him. She could not pass it off as surprise… it had been horror that made her flee, pure horror. Her reaction was damnable… and she felt sick and angry with herself. Tears of self-hatred began to form in her eyes, especially when she tried to force herself to recall Erik's face without being disgusted… and failed.

She felt Mama Valerius squeeze her fingers.

"Christine… are you alright, dear?"

"Yes…" Christine replied as firmly as she could. "Yes, I think I will be."

But would she? Would she really be alright, she wondered as she made her way slowly down the stairs to begin her work. Her guilt ate away at her all through the morning, not allowing her a minute's peace. Mama was right… Erik's face should not change anything… but no matter how many times she tried, she could not suppress the sickened lurch her stomach gave when she remembered that face. It only increased her shame.

And what about Erik himself? She couldn't help but wonder what had happened to him after last night. God… for all she knew he could have been killed by the men at the tavern. He could be lying dead in the gutter…

She pressed her fingers to her temples and tried to control her breathing. It would not do any good to think in this way… or she would probably go mad from the guilt. So, instead, she threw herself into her work to block out her memories and thoughts, pushing away the image of Erik. As much as she wished she could cope with things, she was unprepared for this. She might hate herself for it… but there was little she could do now, except see what came of this. For all she knew Erik would never show himself around her again...

In spite of herself, a glimmer of sadness appeared at this thought.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

She heard herself being addressed, and turned from the table she had been cleaning to greet the new customer. She was surprised to see a dark-skinned, foreign gentleman, his black hair flecked with silver, standing before her, smiling in a way that suggested, to her, that he knew who she was.

"Can I help you?" she asked, feeling suddenly wary.

"Actually, yes. I was hoping to speak to you." He gave a polite little bow. "My name is Nadir Khan. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance."

Christine's forehead creased in confusion. "You know Raoul de Chagney?" she inquired, thinking that perhaps he did business with Raoul's family… although why he would come down to see her, she had no idea. But, to her surprise, the man's smile widened and he shook his head. Who could this man know that she did? She couldn't think…

"I believe you know Erik?"

It felt so strange to hear someone else speak his name, and Christine felt herself go a little pale as she was flooded with questions and confusion.

"Perhaps you'd like to sit down? I'd very much like to talk to you."

Christine nodded in mute astonishment, and sat down heavily at the table she had just been cleaning, the cloth clenched in her tightened fist. She didn't care that she would get into trouble for neglecting her work… her curiosity demanded satisfaction. She stared at the foreign gentleman… Nadir Khan… as he took a seat opposite her. They regarded each other for some time, and Christine wondered what exactly he wished to speak to her about. Finally, when she could bear the silence no longer, she asked:

"You're… a friend of Erik's?"

The man smiled, and shook his head. "I'd hardly call myself that."

She felt a stab of fear. "Then you're…"

"No, Miss… we're not enemies either. We just know each other." He gave a barely perceptible shrug. "I'm sure you know Erik is not the kind of man who makes friends."

Christine could not disagree with this. No, Erik certainly wasn't the most social person she had ever met. He was dark and dangerous… moody… and, though she didn't like to admit it, his face no doubt played a part in matters to. Maybe it was the reason for his behaviour… now that she thought about it, it must explain a good deal about the kind of person Erik was. Dear God, what must he have been through in his life on account of his looks? She didn't dare think…

She was jolted out of her reverie by the man's next statement.

"Which, as you might imagine, has left me very intrigued as to _your_ relationship with him?"

Christine was surprised when she had to suppress a blush at the man's choice of words, as well as the intensely curious way he was staring at her.

"Our 'relationship'?" she repeated nervously.

"Yes… would you say the two of you were friends?"

She found herself frowning, since, in all truthfulness, she wasn't certain.

"He's… been very kind to me," she said finally. There seemed no other way to explain matters, so she decided to let the gentleman draw his own conclusions. But Nadir Khan would not let the matter rest at that and he pressed her, however gently, to tell him more. Eventually she found herself explaining the whole story of what had happened, even forcing herself to relate the humiliating experience of being sent out to the pleasure district. He made no comment on her profession or her situation, but his expression was tinged with gentle sympathy. She could see, however, that his real interest lay in Erik's actions.

"That is interesting…" he mused quietly, leaning back in his chair.

"It is?" she found herself saying.

"Well… don't you find it strange that a man like Erik would take an interest in you?"

Once again, Christine found that she didn't care for his choice of words. Shifting nervously in her seat, she gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders. But she could think of nothing to say.

"For my part…" he went on, "I'm deeply curious, although after what you've told me I can see why you may have caught Erik's attention."

She shifted again. "I didn't really do anything."

"Perhaps you didn't need to," Nadir replied, causing her to glance up suddenly. "You mentioned his interest in your voice. I can see that as being a part of it. Music is very important to him, after all."

Christine found herself recalling Erik's awkward yet heartfelt confession to her about music, and she nodded, still feeling a little ill at ease. She'd never really though of Erik as being 'interested' in her, for whatever reason, which was a silly thing to think, considering all the things he had done for her. Perhaps she had just not wanted to confront the idea… it made her feel self-conscious and deeply worried.

"May I ask what you think of Erik?" Nadir asked.

She wasn't sure what he had meant by that question, and fumbled with her words for a little while. A mixture of images raced through her head, clamouring for her attention… Erik, telling her she needn't be afraid… his anger… his generosity…

… his face.

"He's… been very kind," she mumbled, twisting the cloth in her hands. She could feel that the blood had left her face, and her expression was taut. Erik twisted features were stuck in her mind now, and she could find no way to dispel them. Nadir must have seen this, and known the reason, because he leaned forward, and when she looked at him his eyes were full of concern.

"You've seen him… haven't you."

It wasn't a question, but Christine nodded in reply. She couldn't bring herself to speak just yet, and watched as Nadir shook his head, looking distinctly troubled by this new realisation. She knew he would ask for details, and managed to relate the events of the previous night to him. When she explained that someone had taken Erik's mask, she was surprised to see him look a little relieved, and gave him a questioning frown.

"At least it was not you who revealed him," he explained ominously. "Erik is not very… forgiving, in this regard. I think you can understand why."

She nodded, lost for words once more. But Nadir was watching her, and she realised he was waiting for her to speak more. Oh god, surely he didn't want to hear her reaction? She couldn't bear that… she didn't want to admit that she had run away like a frightened child. She was ashamed enough…

"When I saw…" she spoke at last, "I just… I didn't know what to do. I never expected…" she saw Nadir nod in understanding, and was grateful for that much at least. "I just ran… I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't… I couldn't…"

_I couldn't bear to look at him._

She covered her face with her hands and let out a sob. The feeling that she was being judged overwhelmed her, and she despised it… almost as much as she despised herself. And the more she felt it the more she wanted to justify herself, until finally she blurted out:

"I know it was the wrong thing to do! I know that… after everything he's done for me I shouldn't care how he looks. I feel so terrible for running, but I couldn't…" she trailed off once again, and found herself dissolving into quiet, desperately-controlled sobs. Abruptly she felt something brush her arm, and realised that the foreign gentleman was holding out a handkerchief to her. To her astonishment, he appeared to be smiling just a little, encouragingly. She took the handkerchief, dabbing at her wet cheeks and blowing her nose as politely as she could,

"I'm sorry," she gasped softly, when she had reasserted herself a little. The apology was not merely for her outburst, but also for her behaviour, as if she was answerable to this strange man, ridiculous as that may seem.

"Now, now… you mustn't apologise. I would say your reaction was quite understandable."

"That doesn't mean it was the right thing to do," Christine responded, speaking her thoughts aloud almost without realising.

At this, Nadir held up a finger, as if to demonstrate that she had just made a very good point. "Precisely. And the fact that you realise this says a great deal about you, as far as I'm concerned. Yes, your reaction was wrong, but dare I say that your acknowledgement of this means you would wish to make amends for your behaviour?"

Christine's head whipped up as she realised what the man was implying. Was he really suggesting that she confront Erik? She felt the beginnings of fear prickling at her spine, and then another sudden rush of anger at herself. It wasn't fear she felt… it was her own shallow disgust that held her back. It was despicable… that she would turn down the chance to see Erik and apologise for her actions simply because she couldn't stand the thought of what lay behind the mask. She had admitted to herself that what he looked like didn't matter… she should at least try to live up to that.

"Yes," she said, with more conviction than she could have thought possible. "Yes… of course I would."

Nadir's smile widened. Somehow, she felt glad to have made him smile, because she felt as though it strengthened her resolve. Mama Valerius had made her realise that she had been wrong, and now Nadir Khan had given her a greater confidence… to, as he put it, make amends.

Erik had been so kind to her. She couldn't live with herself if she were not strong enough to look past his face. Wasn't that the least she could do?

"I'm very glad to hear you say that, Miss…" Nadir trailed off meaningfully, and Christine smiled when she realised she had not given him her name yet.

"Christine… Christine Daae."

"Miss Daae," he went on, returning her smile. "I must admit, when you said you had seen him, I was worried that you had already tried and condemned him. I'm very glad that you have proved me wrong."

"Yes… so am I. It wouldn't have been fair for me to judge him for that. I'm sure Erik's a good man inside."

Nadir nodded once more. "That's what I've always hoped."

Christine looked at him. Nadir was not watching her, his eyes were clouded and focused elsewhere. His expression was hopeful, yet laced with sadness, and she wanted to ask him what was the matter but he turned to her and the expression vanished as if it were never there. He gave her an encouraging smile and rose to his feet. She followed quickly.

"Sir…" she said hurriedly. "I… I'm afraid I have no idea how to contact Erik. Would you… if you should happen to meet him… would you tell him that I'd like to see him? I would very much appreciate that."

"Of course, Miss," he assured her. Again, she felt the surge of relief, and the feeling that she was somehow pardoned… her wrong-doings forgiven, at least in part. She knew, of course, that the real trial would be when she saw Erik again. Even though the idea made her heart pound and her stomach twist, she remained resolute… determined to prove that she was not a shallow, ungrateful creature.

She said goodbye to Nadir Khan, and watched as he left the tavern. It was only after he had gone, and she had returned to her work, that a horrible though occurred to her.

What if Erik refused to see her?

* * *

A/N: While writing this I realised how much I love Mama Valerius as a character. She's so sweet... I'm so glad I included her in this story. I don't think she gets enough attention in fiction. And I like Nadir as well, of course... we'll see more of himsoon. Anyway... thanks for all your reviews. Please don't stop and I'll see you next time! 


	15. Go To Her

I wasn't sure if I was going to get this chapter up today... but I managed, hehe. Didn't want to keep you guys in suspense for too long.

Hope you enjoy...

* * *

Chapter 14

**The Hanging Judge – Afternoon**

Scattered across the wooden boards, the evidence of the previous night's drunken violence was still present, despite the best efforts of many people to clear things away. Broken glass crunched under Stephan's feet as he surveyed the damage and muttered colourful obscenities under his breath.

This tavern was his life… his head-quarters… the seat of his power. Last night had not been kind to business. He would now have to pay for damages… replace chairs, windows. It all took money out of his pocket… money he did not wish to lose.

Like with most tavern brawls, it was hard to find the one responsible. Things had happened too quickly, and the testimonies of the patrons were sketchy, clouded by alcohol… unreliable at best. He couldn't order his men to go out and find a man to threaten, not least because several of them were still nursing injuries from the fight.

Not to mention the fact that one of them was stone dead.

That event at least had been crystal clear in everyone's mind. Stefan doubted any man or woman in the place could have missed that little show. The Angel of Death, unmasked for all to see… revealed as the freak he truly was. Stefan hadn't been surprised… disgusted perhaps… but he'd always guessed there was more to the man's secrecy than some professional eccentricity. That mask hid more than an identity. You only had to look at the man's eyes to realise that. His first instinct had been to laugh… deliver some memorable taunt… until he had watched the freak attack one of his men and choke the life from him.

It was one thing for him to lose a man in professional matters… he paid to have people killed all the time. And he might not like having his own men assassinated, but that was how the business worked. But to watch as one of his most valuable gang members was strangled… apparently out of anger and vengeance…

It was the last straw for Stefan. He had warned that masked freak about crossing him… he'd definitely crossed the line now.

He sat down at one of the few tables that had remained intact, spitting to one side as he waited for the others to show themselves. They did so gradually, each bearing marks from the previous night. A black eye here… a swollen lip… nothing too serious, at least. They took their seats, or stood within earshot, as Stefan made sure that they were all accounted for… with the obvious exception.

"Glad ya all could make it," he sneered. He paused, and looked around again to make sure he had their full attention before continuing. "We've got ourselves a problem. Think ya know what I'm talking about."

There was a chorus of nods. One man cracked his knuckles and ground his teeth angrily. "That's bastard killed my mate. He's gonna get pummelled six feet inta the ground."

"Ya think so?" Stefan asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Ya think this guy's gonna go down easy? Don't ya forget who we're dealin' with here. I've had this freak doin' jobs for me for years. He's one slippery son of a bitch."

"You got a plan then, boss?" one of the men asked, leaning forward in his chair with keen interest.

"Damn right. I've been watching our Angel of Death pretty closely. He may look like a thing from hell, but he's got his weaknesses too. All we gotta do his hit him where it hurts."

The men frowned. Clearly they had no idea what Stefan was trying to get at… oblivious to what the masked assassin's weakness might be. Rolling his eyes, Stefan slammed a fist down onto the table.

"The girl, ya idiots!"

His men exchanged looks. "What about the girl?"

"Are ya blind as well as dumb? Didn't ya see them last night? He was goin' out of his way to help her. And I've seen them talking… she gets to him. Gets under his skin, right? If we want to get this freak… then using that girl is our best chance."

"You mean… like for bait?"

Stefan pointed triumphantly at the man who had spoken. "Exactly! We get hold of her… keep her somewhere nice and safe… and when our little Angel of Death comes looking for her…" Stefan smiled, and made a slitting motion at his throat. Understanding, the men grinned at him and each other. Already they had the excitement of bloodlust in their eyes. It was enough to make Stefan feel impatient to set his plan in motion.

Of course… he couldn't do that just yet. A few days yet… to give the men chance to recuperate, and sort out a nice little place to hold the Daae girl, somewhere out of the way where no one else was going to find them and disrupt things.

He beckoned his men into a tight group, and began to give them swift instructions, his eyes glinting with malevolence and the feeling of power and control. He had promised that freak his time was coming…

… and now the countdown had begun.

**The Sewers – Evening (A Few Days Later)**

Nadir Khan wandered through the dimly lit tunnels that ran beneath the slums, careful of his step as he waited. It was the third consecutive day he had descended in search of Erik, and it appeared that it would be the third day with no luck whatsoever.

Nadir had no idea where Erik's home was… only that its entrance was down here somewhere. He wasn't hoping to find that entrance… such a thing would have been impossible. No, Nadir had something else in mind. He knew Erik would guard his privacy well, especially given what had happened only a few days ago. He would be on the look out for trespassers. He just hoped that his presence would be enough to draw the masked man out of hiding.

He sighed and decided to rest himself for a moment, leaning against the dampened stone.

If someone had asked him what he thought he was doing, he was certain they would have considered him mad. He supposed it was madness, in a way. He was all but inviting the wrath of a man who had a long history of cold-blooded killing… someone who had made murder a way of life. And Nadir was not foolish enough to believe that his past involvement with Erik would be enough to sway his hand. He had always known that his acquaintance with Erik balanced on the edge of a knife. It was no small miracle that he was not dead already.

So why was he down here attempting, of all things, to coax this killer to venture out and seek that dear, innocent young girl?

Nadir knew why. It was a dangerous thing for him to do; particular in regard to the position he had placed Miss Daae in. He was aware he had asked a great deal of her, but had been pleasantly surprised with her acceptance and determination. But perhaps she did not yet understand the task that lay before her. If, as it appeared to him, she truly wanted to be friends with Erik (Nadir did not dare hope for anything more than that), then there was far more for her to overcome than merely his appearance.

It was unfair… monstrously unfair for Nadir to lay this burden upon her… he was fully aware of that. But he had seen Erik's interest in her. And he had noticed the change in Erik himself at the tavern. Not to mention Christine's accounts of his so called 'kindness'. Erik had never been kind to anyone before, at least as far as Nadir knew. He had never gone out of his way to help someone, man or woman.

So something about this young girl was different. And something about her had caused Erik to change. That alone was enough reason for Nadir to want to bring them closer together. For many, many years he had hoped to bring about some change in Erik's life… persuade him to leave his hatred of mankind in the past and focus on the beauty he could create in his music and numerous other talents. He had tried to turn Erik away from killing… and, of course, he had failed miserably. He tried to tell himself that if only he wasn't away so often… if he could keep a more constant eye on Erik then maybe things would have been different. But the truth of the matter was that Erik simply wouldn't listen to him. He didn't give a damn about Nadir's morals… he had said they were too human for a 'monster' such as him.

It had been very hard for Nadir to accept that there was nothing he could do to bring out Erik's humanity. He hadn't wanted to admit failure, and continued to try whenever he encountered Erik… seeking desperately to imprint some moral lesson on the poor man. But he may as well have told the sun to stop rising, or the wind to cease blowing. He could not undo the years of torment and humiliation anymore than he could give Erik a face like that of any other man.

And now this girl had apparently done the impossible. Nadir was in no position to wonder how or why… whether it was her voice, her beauty… or just her innocence that had brought about this change. The important thing, to him, was that perhaps, with her help, Erik might come to realise that there was more to life than hatred and death.

Of course, all this depended on him finding Erik in the first place.

Pushing himself upright once more, Nadir was about to continue his wanderings when he realised that a pair of yellow eyes were watching him from the darkness. As his vision focused, Nadir could just about make out a faint silhouette and his breath caught in his throat. How long had he been standing there? Had he been following?

He was about to address the shadow, but never even had the chance to open his mouth.

"I would have thought you'd know better than to come down here," said Erik's familiar voice. Nadir was deeply disturbed by the lack of emotion in his words, never mind the underlying threat.

"I needed to talk to you."

"You never talk to me… you lecture me. And if you've wandered down here to provide me with yet another tedious sermon on humanity, I am not interested."

Nadir should have anticipated this cold reception, but he was still taken aback by the sheer iciness Erik displayed. He'd always been a little resentful of Nadir's 'interference' in his life, but never to this extent. It brought gooseflesh rising on his arms and the hairs on his neck prickled. But he was damned if he was going to be intimidated and driven away before saying what needed to be said.

"I'm not here to talk about anything like that, Erik," he replied truthfully.

"I doubt you're here to make idle chatter," the shadow remarked snidely.

"I heard about what happened at the tavern."

The temperature dropped and for a long time nothing was heard except the sound of running water, although Nadir could have sworn he heard Erik trying desperately to control his breathing. It had been a risk to mention what had happened, especially in such a tactless way, but it was too late to take his words back now.

"That is not your concern," Erik said after a time, and the tightness in his voice was palpable.

"And I spoke to Christine."

The shadow moved swiftly and, in the darkness, Nadir had little chance of defending himself. Within moments he found his back pressed painfully against the stone, strong hands grasping the front of his coat. Erik's eyes were like flames beneath the mask. Obviously mentioning the girl so candidly had been a mistake.

"You insufferable… interfering fool. Why do you insist on prying into matters that do not concern you?"

"Erik, I – "

"Be quiet!"

The shout echoed through the sewer tunnels, and Nadir knew better than to try and speak again. He could see Erik's shoulders shaking, and hear his ragged breathing. Whatever was holding him back from actually killing him, it was on the verge of breaking.

"Your presence here does have one benefit," Erik said, slowly and carefully. "I have decided that our acquaintance has come to an end. In fact… I have decided to relinquish all connections I have, beyond those necessary for me to live comfortably. I do not wish to see you or… _her_ ever again."

With that, he released Nadir, almost pushing him to the ground. But Nadir was quickly struggling to his feet, not willing to give up. He was certain that if he allowed Erik to leave now, then he truly would cut himself off completely. And he was not prepared to let that happen.

"Erik, wait! Please listen!" he called to the retreating shadow. "She wants to see you again."

The sound of footsteps ceased, and was replaced by a cold and bitter laugh which rang out and echoed through the dark tunnels around them. It chilled him right to the centre of his body, but at least Erik was not leaving now. Nadir watched as the yellow eyes turned back to him.

"Do you take me for a fool?"

"It's the truth, Erik."

Another icy laugh and the shadow made a gesture towards the mask. "What woman in her right mind would wish to see _this_? I suppose once wasn't enough for her… she had to have another dose of horror."

Nadir dared to take a step closer to the dark figure. "Erik… you must believe me… she – "

"I will believe the evidence of my own eyes," Erik snapped. "I saw her face when she looked at me. What more is there to know? And besides…" he added with bitter deliberation, "it doesn't matter anymore. It was probably a mercy… I can finally put an end to this ridiculous behaviour. I've indulged this… this idiotic fascination long enough."

Was it his imagination, or was there actually a hint of regret in Erik's voice? Nadir wanted desperately to believe it… and seized upon the possibility even as he saw the shadow shake off its sudden nostalgia and become, once again, the threatening presence it believed it was meant to be. Nadir had to fight to keep his expression neutral, knowing that Erik would see him clearly, even in the dark. He couldn't risk the masked man jumping to conclusions about his intentions. He would grow angry… it was all too easy to incite Erik's rage, especially when he was like this.

"Nevertheless… I think you should go to see her."

"And what would I achieve by that?"

"If nothing else, it would give _her_ some peace of mind," Nadir stated firmly, remembering the poor child's guilty tears as she spoke of her actions. "I spoke to her Erik… she regrets what happened."

"Well, who could blame her for that?"

Nadir sighed. "No… she regrets her behaviour. She feels guilty… she wishes to make amends and do the right thing. Will you acknowledge that at least, Erik?"

There was a pause, and Nadir was aware of Erik's intense gaze, and his stomach turned. Had he realised? Did he know? It would be foolish to believe he didn't suspect some sort of ulterior motive to Nadir's actions.

As if to affirm Nadir's fears, Erik asked, softly and dangerously: "Why is it that you seek to bring me and this girl together? You know me… I'm hardly the kind of… _thing_ a young girl like that should associate with. I would have expected you to try and keep her safely away." The dark shape took a step closer, and the yellow eyes under the mask narrowed. "What game are you playing, Nadir?"

"She asked to see you, that's all," Nadir replied as firmly as he could, but he cringed as Erik leant closer, studying his face.

"You think she can save me, don't you," Erik hissed. And then laughed, that same bitter, icy laugh. It sent a tremor down Nadir's spine, and the cold seized his body until he thought he would never be warm again. It was useless to attempt to deny anything. He could only wait now and listen to Erik's derisive laughter… wait to hear what more he would say in light of this revelation. "You think she will make up for your failings… become my conscience?" Erik asked, cruelly. "You think she'll teach me how to be a better man?" He scoffed loudly. "You can't make a man out of a monster. I thought you were sensible enough to know that."

"It's true," Nadir admitted, deciding to take refuge in the truth. "I won't deny it… and I doubt you would believe me if I tried. But I am not lying Erik… she asked to see you."

There was a pause, and Nadir dared to hope that the masked man was considering his words. "You're a crafty man, Nadir," Erik sneered at last.

Nadir drew himself up. "I'm no liar," he said indignantly.

"You don't have to lie to be crafty," Erik retorted. "And if you think I'm going to take this bait then you are gravely mistaken. My mind is made up… and I do not want to see you or _her_ ever again. If I catch you wandering these sewers after today…"

He left the threat hanging in the air, and Nadir felt his heart sink as the dark shape that was Erik turned away from him and retreated into the shadows, until it was lost completely in the blackness. He made no noise… not even the lightest of footsteps… and there was a frightening emptiness all around.

Desperate, Nadir decided to make one last appeal.

"Go to her, Erik. You'll regret it forever if you don't… and so will she."

His words echoed against the stone around him and then faded, lost. Nadir could only hope that it was not only the walls that were listening.

**The Sewers**

Erik made his way back to his lair, removing his coat, hood and gloves wearily before seating himself before the organ. He rested his long, pale fingers against the keys, but applied no pressure. Somehow… he didn't feel like playing.

_You'll regret it… and so will she._

He clutched angrily at his head. That damned Nadir… why had he come down here? Why had he complicated things? Now all Erik could think about was his words… the implication that Christine really _had_ asked to see him.

Hah! Small chance of that. Nadir had admitted it himself… he wanted to try and influence Erik's 'morals'. He wanted Christine to bring out Erik's supposed 'humanity'. He was probably spinning a little tale to persuade him to go and find Christine and he could continue to make himself more vulnerable to emotion and humanity. Christine wouldn't have asked to see him… Nadir only sought to find someone to pick up where he had left off. For some reason, that made Erik seethe with anger… as if Christine were no more than a means to an end.

His fist came crashing down on the organ keys.

He was doing it AGAIN! Damnit… he swore to himself that he would not let himself care. The girl was unimportant… she had been a temporary weakness. She was a mistake! He had to forget about her… forget her name, her face… even her voice.

Especially her voice.

Despairingly, he dropped his head into his hands. But the moment his fingers touched the leather of the mask he recoiled, as if it were burning hot, and anger surged inside him. He tore the accursed thing from his face and hurled it across the chamber with a roar, wishing that he could hear it smash like glass against the stone. The pathetic, anti-climatic sound it made seemed to sap his anger from him, and he sat heavily on the organ bench once more. This time, when he put his head in his hands, his fingers dug into the flesh. He welcomed the pain… it was a punishment.

He had to stop… he had to stop thinking of her…

But he couldn't. Even during the past few days… during his enforced solitude, he had been unable to keep her out of his thoughts. No distraction was good enough… she'd infected him like a drug that refused to be purged from his body. Her voice… her face…

_Go to her…_

Nadir's words echoed inside his skull. He dug his fingers deeper, close to drawing blood… as if he could bleed the words out and rid himself of the idea that, perhaps, she truly did wish to see him again.

"No… stop it…" he hissed at himself. It was ridiculous… impossible. He shouldn't even be contemplating the possibility.

He was bitterly aware that, a few weeks ago, he would have been able to dismiss the idea. He would have laughed mockingly and then all thoughts of it would have vanished from his mind. Life would have continued as normal… he would have been safe, emotionless and alone.

Just like he should be.

Something had changed. Even if he chose not to go and find Christine, something inside him had been irreversibly altered. Before, he could have handled the possibility of human contact to some degree… just enough to do business. But now, he realised there could be no grey area of the spectrum anymore. It was simple black and white… either he went to Christine now, or he would shut himself off completely… just so he wouldn't risk experiencing this accursed weakness ever again.

It was time to make a choice.

* * *

A/N: I like this chapter... especially the last part with Erik. I'm not entirely sure why... I just do, een if it is very angsty. And the insight into Nadir's mind... and seeing his motivations. But I think we can all see the flaw in Nadir's good intentions... yes? Anyway, thanks for your reviews again... and see you next week. 


	16. Friendship?

Here we go again. Hope you've all had a good week... thanks for your reviews! We've gone past the 200 mark, hehe!

Anyway... here's this week's chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 15

**The Dancing Herald – Evening**

Something in the air had changed. Everyone in the city had noticed and responded accordingly. Women wrapped up their children more warmly, nearly every chimney in the slums was smoking from the warm fires lit to battle the ensuing cold. Winter was finally creeping in on them all. Christine had felt it too.

Even the rain had changed. As she went outside to rescue the laundry, she knew. It was cold rain, not the pleasant kind that fell in summer and was almost a relief to everyone after days of blistering heat. These raindrops, cold and unrelenting, clung to her skin and ran down her back, making her shiver constantly as she took the linen down and rushed back inside where it was at least a little warmer. She sniffed loudly and tried to wipe away the moisture with her sleeve as she arranged the washing near the stove to dry.

She gave a long heavy sigh, and if anyone had been around to hear it they might have thought some great tragedy had struck.

It had been almost a week since she had spoken to Nadir Khan and still there had been no sign of Erik. She had contemplated going down to the Hanging Judge to find him herself, but with nothing to take for Stefan and his gang she hadn't dared set foot in that area of the slums. Time was running out, however, and she would have to go there eventually… tomorrow or the day after perhaps.

But although the idea of this made her tremble, it was the thought that Erik would not accept her apology that weighed her down. Every day that passed she felt the burden of guilt grow heavier, until she had been on the verge of breaking down into sobs. Both Mama Valerius and Meg had noticed, but she had been unable to bring herself to tell either of them the full extent of her worries. They didn't need to be burdened with this. If Erik did decide to show himself then perhaps she would explain things to them both properly.

Of course… that didn't seem likely to happen now.

The evening passed slowly, with Christine helping to serve drinks and doing chores in the kitchen. There was no entertainment tonight, so there were not quite so many people in, making the atmosphere subdued and almost melancholic, although this might have been partly due to the atrocious weather. The rain pounded on the roof and ran in streams down the gutters. There wasn't even any lightning or thunder to make it that little bit exciting.

Gradually the number of patrons dwindled until the tapster finally helped the last one into his coat and propelled him gently but firmly out of the front door, sliding the iron blots firmly into place. With a relieved sigh he returned to the main parlous, where Christine had just finished wiping down the tables and was now about to start sweeping up.

"Well," said the tapster with a long, loud yawn, "I think I'll turn in. Do you think you can manage the rest?"

"Yes, I'll be fine… they've finished all the work kitchen, so I'll just sweep up."

"Excellent. Well, goodnight Christine."

"Goodnight," she called after him gently as he wandered up the stairs. She smiled at his back for a moment, the lowered her head and returned to her sweeping. The sound the broom made across the wood was so monotonous and with the constant thundering of the rain outside it almost gave her a headache, especially when one of the shutters came loose and began to swing back and forth in the wind, banging loudly and annoyingly against the wall. Quickly she set the broom down and went to shut it. She couldn't help shivering as the cold air rushed over her arms.

In the silence that followed, Christine could feel an ache threatening to build up, and fought desperately to suppress it. She cast a look around the parlour and noticed the guitar poking out from behind the bar. She didn't go and pick it up but, as she continued to sweep, she began to hum under her breath. It was a soft, uplifting song, and she felt a little more at ease as she continued, building up until the lyrics spilled out of her mouth of their own will.

_Down by the flowing river,_

_Beyond the great city,_

_You'll find my small haven,_

_That no one else knows_

_I wander by starlight,_

_By day and by sunset,_

_And drink in the beauty_

_That nature still shows_

She was about to begin the chorus when she stopped suddenly. Once again there had been a change in the air around her.

She was not alone.

It could not have been one of the barmaids, or the tapster. She would have heard them coming down the stairs and besides, they were all probably sounds asleep upstairs by now. This person had entered with no intention of being noticed and immediately she was on her guard. The broom in her hand was hardly an effective weapon, but it was all she had within easy reach, so she held it like a staff in front of her, her knuckles white against the all too flimsy wood as she turned to see who had entered.

The parlour was empty.

But the uneasy feeling of being watched remained. And the feeling was familiar enough for her to lower her guard and take a step forward. Could it really be…?

"Erik?"

She jumped as a footstep came from _behind_ her, and turned swiftly to face the dark figure that seemed to have manifested from the very shadows of the room. The distinctive yellow eyes told her all she needed to know and she lessened her grip on the broom, lowering it to a position that didn't appear quite so defensive.

She felt a surge of relief, both that it was Erik and not some drunkard and also the fact that he had decided to come. But the relief was quickly supplanted by discomfort has she realised she had no idea what to say.

"I…" she stumbled over her words. "I'm glad you came."

There was only stony silence from the shadow, making her feel far more uncomfortable. Her body was overcome with conflicting emotions… it couldn't decide if her blood was boiling hot or icy cold, and flicked between the two, leaving her dizzy. She fought for control of herself just as she fought for the right thing to say.

"I wanted to apologise for what happened," she said, her words rushing out and leaving her breathless. But not as breathless as Erik's reply left her.

"Why? It was hardly your fault."

The remark was so coldly dismissive it made Christine feel sick inside and instead of removing her guilt it only increased it. Fervently she shook her head. "No… if you hadn't helped me…"

"Yes, of course. If I hadn't rushed to assist you I'm sure you would have been spared the sight of _this_."

The venom in his words, and the sharp gesture he made towards his face made Christine shrink back, and it was too late before she realised that Erik misinterpreted the reaction.

"I see even the thought is enough to make you cower."

"Erik, I didn't mean – "

"Spare me your explanations," he interrupted with yet another curt gesture of his hand. "Don't you think I've seen the same expression on the face of thousands of others? I don't know why I thought you might be any different."

His words stung, but gave rise to that old stubborn indignation inside her. She would not be placed in the same category as the thousands of others who, she guessed, had reacted similarly to her… or worse. For some reason it was terribly important that Erik know she wasn't as shallow as he seemed to believe. It was more than just to ease her own guilty conscience… she didn't want him to hate her.

"Erik," she tried again, "I know I was wrong to react that way…"

"Oh? How strange… I don't imagine anyone else would have thought so."

Christine wrung her hands desperately, barely able to cope with this scathing attitude. "I don't care what anyone else would have thought. _I_ know it was wrong… especially after everything you've done for me. I could try and give you any number of excuses but it doesn't change the fact that it was wrong."

There was a silence, and Christine was aware that she had Erik's full attention. She found herself blushing under the intensity of his gaze, realising that he expected her to continue. She twisted the handle of the broom in her hands as she fought desperately for the right words to express herself.

"I… I can understand if you hate me. I hate myself for what happened… for what I did. It was no way for me to behave after… everything. I owe you so much and have no way to repay you." She gulped painfully. "Except perhaps to offer you my friendship, if you'll accept it."

At this last statement, she saw Erik's head move just slightly, as if he were taken aback by what she had said. Her grip on the broom tightened as she waited anxiously for a response, that feeling of standing before a judge and jury filling her once more. But she forced herself not to look away from him, staring directly into those yellow eyes. She watched as his head tilted to one side and he took a step forward. The atmosphere thickened.

"What exactly are you trying to prove?" he asked, his voice low and a little frightening. She forced herself not to cringe or move away.

"I just… I want to be your friend. That's all."

* * *

**The Dancing Herald – Night**

_That's all._

She made it sound like such a simple little thing. But did she realise what she was saying?

He hadn't known what to expect when he finally decided to come here… but this was certainly the last thing he would have imagined. Perhaps he thought that she would have apologised and that would be the end of it. For some reason the idea had made him feel all the more embittered, and provoked him to act coldly towards her.

But now she was saying she wished to be his friend.

And she was telling the truth. Oh, he didn't doubt that she had other reasons for doing this… more selfish reasons. To ease her conscience… make herself seem a better, nobler person. And it would have been simple to angrily state that she was doing this only as a form of repayment. But there was a gentle sincerity in her eyes and voice that he couldn't ignore. Regardless of her other reasons… there was some part of her that genuinely did seek his… friendship.

Why? Why of all people did she wish to befriend him? She should not want to associate with him… not after seeing him… seeing the twisted monstrosity that was his face. Anyone in their right mind would have kept their distance.

But she was standing there… waiting for his reply… her emotions as plain as day.

"You think it's that simple, do you?" he asked callously. "You think an apology is all it will take?"

He watched as she bit her lip nervously, and he knew he was being unnecessarily spiteful, but couldn't seem to contain himself.

"I won't to lie to you, Erik…" she said slowly. "Your face… it frightened me. It still does… and I'm ashamed to admit it. But I won't let it make me forget your kindness."

He laughed bitterly, causing her to flinch in surprise. "Again… 'kindness'. Monsters are not _kind_, Christine."

At this she uttered a sound that was half way between a sob and a sigh. "Oh, Erik… you are not a monster."

"I'm sure the rest of the world would disagree with you on that."

When he said this Christine let out a frustrated cry and thumped the broom she held against the floor an almost childish show of frustration. In spite of himself, he found it amusing to see her so defiant. But her words shocked him.

"I don't care what the rest of the world thinks! I know you're not a monster. If you were you wouldn't have helped me all those times. I know you're a good person, Erik… I'd be happy to call you my friend!"

His humour vanished. He stopped still… hardly able to believe what he had just heard. It was one of the few times he had ever truly been at a loss. He wasn't sure what to do or say in the face of this new development. No one had ever so openly offered him friendship… no woman certainly. It was beyond belief… it was absurd.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes, I do," she insisted, and this time it was she who took a step forward. "Please, Erik… I'm sorry…" She faltered. Good god… was she crying now? Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry," she said again… and this time the wretchedness in her voice was plain. It pulled at something deep inside him… the feelings he had tried so desperately to suppress threatened to explode out of him, but he held on desperately. He couldn't give in… he couldn't let himself…

But then what could he do? What should he say to her? If he said no… or simply accepted her apology and left it at that, he would never see her again… that was certain. Suddenly that thought was painful. It brought the ache back to his chest. He couldn't bring himself to leave her… not like this. But neither could he allow himself to lower his defences. He was too set in his ways to do this… to accept her friendship.

"I cannot be your friend," he said.

The look on her face was heartbreaking. He saw any remaining hopefulness fade before his eyes, replaced by an unbelievable despair that made him curse inwardly at himself. He had hurt her... and for some reason, something would not allow him to leave it at that.

"If…" he went on, trying to keep the tentativeness out of his voice, "If you truly wish to repay me then there is only one way I can allow you to do that."

Her perfect forehead creased in confusion and, he noticed, a hint of worry. It was unfounded… and he even found himself smiling just a little at her innocent concern. The weight in his chest lessened… he felt something inside him give in just a little…

"I wish to teach you."

It was obvious this was the last thing she expected to hear and her frown deepened as she tried to understand what he could possibly mean by that. But at least her worry had vanished… replaced instead by childlike curiosity.

"Teach me?"

He nodded, and took a step closer to her. The gap between them had grown smaller and smaller, but he was gratified to notice that she did not recoil, even though he now stood in the dim light, no longer shielded by the darkness.

"You are certainly not going to make much progress with your current instructor. So perhaps you could use a little extra tuition."

She was still confused, but the meaning of his words gradually began to sink in. Her blue eyes widened at him, and he tried not to chuckle at her surprise.

"You mean… you can teach me to sing?"

His smile widened beneath the mask. "Didn't I tell you I was a musician?"

At the reminder of their conversation before she had first gone up to the Opera House, he saw the faint trace of a smile on her lips as she realised it was true. The smile grew wider, and her face lit up in a way he hadn't seen before.

"You… you could really teach me?"

Well, at least she didn't seem adverse to the idea. It surprised him… perhaps she had really meant everything she said about wanting to look past his face. He berated himself… such a thing was too much to hope for. He could content himself with being her teacher… finally having that perfect voice under his guidance, where it belonged. He would shape her into the star she was clearly meant to be… and allow himself to enjoy the beauty of her voice. That would be enough.

"If you wish," he replied.

She shook her head… not in refusal, he noted, but in disbelief. Her smile was fixed, as if it were permanently carved on her face. And _he_ had been the cause. He watched, experiencing a strange new feeling as she clasped her hands and laughed.

"I would love for you to teach me!" she said, and her sincerity was so beautiful it almost felt painful. In fact… it was.

"Good," he said simply, and perhaps a little coldly. Suddenly he wanted to leave… he couldn't stand to see her look at him like that… with such sweet delight and happiness. It made him wonder if she could look at him in that way if he were not wearing the mask… and he knew that he must not think like that. It was dangerous for him to think such things… it would only make him weaker than he already was. "Then shall we say… tomorrow evening? Would that be convenient?"

She nodded vigorously, so enthusiastic that he couldn't help but smile.

"Then I shall come to collect you… in the alleyway at the back of the tavern."

She nodded again and, since there really didn't seem to be anything else for him to say, he turned to leave, but was halted when she said his name. Her voice was timid once more, and he turned to see that her happiness had faded a little. She bit her lip as he faced her once more, then blushed and looked away.

"Yes?" he prompted her gently.

"I just… I would really like to… to hear you say it. It would make me feel much better."

At first he wasn't certain what she meant. Somehow he knew she wasn't talking about his teaching her… but what then? When she looked at him again, and he saw the lingering guilt in her eyes, he realised what she spoke of, and his chest tightened. He had never forgiven anyone for their reaction to his face… not that anyone had ever attempted to apologise before. Such trivialities were wasted on freaks and monsters… and it was not in his nature to be forgiving.

But when he saw her eyes… and thought that she might cry… it was as if the words were dragged from his mouth.

"I forgive you."

She smiled again, and although it was not so euphoric as before, it was still sweet and heartfelt.

"Thank you."

Normally he would have been dismissive. He would have waved her thanks aside as if it were nothing and simply walked away. Now… he found himself nodding instead.

"Until tomorrow then."

And it was only then that he lifted his hood and finally left the small tavern, climbing down into the sewers once more to return to his home. And as he walked he felt oddly fulfilled. Strange… because a month or two ago he would have considered himself content… at peace with the life he had seemed destined to live.

Perhaps there was more to life than this…

* * *

**The Dancing Herald**

Christine watched Erik leave, the smile still playing across her face. She felt more at peace with herself than she had in a long, long time… especially after hearing Erik say that he forgave her for her behaviour. It had been exactly what she needed to hear.

And then his offer of lessons…

Erik's proposition had taken her completely by surprise. It seemed a strange way for her to repay his kindness… allow him to teach her. If anything she thought that would place her further in his debt but the more she thought about it the more intrigued she was. True, Erik had mentioned that he was a musician and his voice certainly indicated that he could sing…

But teach?

She shook her head in amused disbelief and returned to her sweeping. The thought of tomorrow filled her with excitement and anticipation, so much that she wanted to dance around like an idiot.

Her thoughts were so preoccupied with tomorrow that she failed to notice that she was no longer alone until it was too late. Christine did not even have the chance to cry out before a hand clamped harshly over her mouth. There was a quick movement behind her and she made brief and futile struggle against her assailants, trying to scream through the hand that silenced her. And then there was an explosion behind her eyes as she was struck on the back of the head. Stars danced in her eyes, then faded and burnt out… leaving only blackness.

Her body went limp, and she was carelessly slung over a man's shoulder. The three men glanced around the tavern… but no one had been woken. They departed quickly, unseen and unheard… vanishing with their unconscious captive into the storm.

* * *

A/N: Kind of typical, isn't it? He finally offers her lessons and then she goes and gets kidnapped. Hehe... I knew you'd all been waiting for that, just hope I handled it okay for everyone. Erik's still in denial about his real feelings but... how long's it going to last? Have to wait and see. In the meantime... please review and I'll see you next week!


	17. Damsel in Distress

Hey everyone! Sorry about no update last week. was partly to blame because it wouldn't let me upload anything for a few days... so I decided to leave the update and not get thrown out of my schedule, hehe. So sorry about the extended cliffhanger. Enjoy the next chapter!

* * *

Chapter 16

**A Warehouse – Morning**

When Christine finally awoke, every part of her body seemed to be in agony. Her muscles ached… her head was spinning. She could taste bile at the back of her throat and coughed weakly as she tried to make sense of her situation.

She was slumped forward in a chair. Her neck hurt because it was straining forward with the weight of her head. The rest of her body was held upright by the ropes that bound her tightly to the chair. Hands, feet, body… they were all useless. As her strength began to return she fearfully attempted to loosen the bonds, but only hurt herself further as she struggled. She flexed her fingers, trying to help the blood flow… the ropes were so tight her fingers had gone white.

She raised her head, aware of a painful throbbing on the back of her skull. Her vision was blurred and filled with different coloured spots, but as it grew clearer she began to make out shapes. Tall, imposing shapes… standing around her. And when she listened, she thought she could the sound of chuckling.

She knew that sound…

"Mornin' sweetheart," said one of the shapes, taking a step closer.

All Christine could manage was an indistinct mumble, but there was fear in it. For, as the figure approached and her vision finally allowed her to see him clearly, she recognised that disgusting leer… the malicious look in his eyes.

Stefan…

Just recognising him was enough to strike her with fear, and a surge of energy accompanied it as she struggled to awaken herself properly, not wanting to confront him in this groggy, helpless state.

Her struggle was met with more cruel amusement.

"Fetch her some water, lads."

Water would have been a welcome relief, but Christine felt someone grab her roughly by the hair and force her head back. There was vicious laughter as water was practically dumped on her face leaving her to splutter and cough as it dripped down her neck. It was icy cold and ran underneath her clothes, making her shiver horribly. She tried to shake it off when her hair was finally released, but it clung to her skin and the chill only added to her sense of trepidation.

What the water did succeed in doing, however, was waking her senses a little more, and as she shook her soaked hair out of her eyes she finally managed to find her voice.

"What's happening?"

She wished her voice could have sounded stronger, less frail and vulnerable, but it didn't, and the men laughed at her expense once again, or rather sniggered. But they didn't answer her question, so she tried once again.

"What do you want with me?"

She wasn't certain she really wanted to know the answer to this. She couldn't imagine what she had done wrong this time… but it must have been something terrible in Stefan's mind for him to go this far. And what would they do to her… these men… now that she was tied up here in this place, utterly defenceless. From what she could tell it was some kind of large abandoned warehouse. She swore she could hear the sound of water… perhaps they were by the docks. She wanted to scream… to call for help. But somehow she doubted that anyone would answer her… not in a place like this.

But _why_ was she here?

Stefan must have seen her fear, because he took a step closer and knelt down in front of her with a sickening grin.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. This ain't about you, believe it or not."

Christine felt her pounding heart slow as confusion briefly eclipsed her fear. Frowning at the man before her, she glanced around at the others once again. There were even men up on a higher level above their heads, watching them over a wooden railing or peering out of windows. Every one of them had some kind of weapon in their hands… clubs, knifes… And though she had the distinct feeling they were not intended for her, her fear escalated.

"What do you want?" she asked with a tremor in her voice.

Still leering, Stefan reached up and took her chin in his grubby fingers. She tried to jerk her head away, but he gripped it tight and forced her to look at him.

"We just want ya ta play the part of damsel in distress… think ya can manage that?" he sniggered. "Ya sure look the part."

"Why?" she asked, her confusion intensifying. What she needed was a straight answer, not these cryptic remarks.

"Ah, don't play all coy, sweetheart. I've seen ya with him… thick as thieves." There was a chorus of laughter from the assembled men at their boss's joke, but Christine felt no inclination to laugh.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" she said frantically, feeling herself about to cry.

"Come on… you were with the freak just before we got to ya, the lads said. Didn't think ya'd want to be near him again… after seeing that face of 'is."

Now Christine felt as though her heart had been stopped and was twisting around inside her chest. The blood drained from her face and, before she could stop herself she whispered, hoarsely:

"Erik?"

Now it was Stefan's turn to look surprised, but it quickly turned to cruel amusement, and she realised she must have made a terrible mistake in mentioning Erik's name.

"Hah! So the Angel of Death has a name?"

'The Angel of Death'? Surely they couldn't be talking about the same person. He couldn't be referring to Erik. But who else could he possibly be talking about? And yet hat name filled her with such dread she felt sick to her stomach. She didn't understand… what was happening?

Stefan must have read her deepening confusion because she grinned again. "Ah… that's just a li'l name he's earned himself over the years."

She stared up at him, her eyes so wide they ached. She didn't want to ask how Erik had acquired such a name. She didn't want to know… and so, desperate to move away from the subject, she asked, as boldly as she could manage:

"What do you want?"

"With him?" Stefan asked with a chuckle. "Ahh… not much. Just a li'l payback, is all."

Her forehead creased. "What do you mean? What does this have to do with me?"

"Ain't that sweet… still innocent after all that." he laughed coldly once more and leaned far too closely towards her. "We're gonna have some fun with your li'l friend. And YOU are the bait, sweetheart."

'Bait'. Christine had never associated the word with anything except a worm on a fishing line, and suddenly she knew how it felt to be in that situation. Dangling helplessly, luring some poor unsuspecting victim to its doom. She didn't need to ask what the 'fun' Stefan referred to might entail, and horrible images of what may be played through her mind sickeningly.

"No…" she whispered hoarsely.

"Oh, yes," Stefan declared triumphantly.

Desperate, Christine tried to think. There had to be something she could do? Perhaps throw Stefan off somehow?

"What makes you think he'll come for me?" she asked, attempting to act as though this would be the most improbable outcome. But Stefan didn't buy her act and he laughed right in her face.

"Nice try, sweetheart. But ya not gonna fool me. We've all seen ya with him." He gave a softer laugh this time. "Never thought I'd see the day when a girl got ta him like that." He shrugged. "Just something about ya, I guess. Good thing too… gonna put it to good use now."

Stefan's words hit a mark inside Christine that she had never thought present. The implication… it sparked the same reaction in her that both Meg and Nadir had when they spoke of Erik's 'interest' in her. The more it was mentioned… the more she was forced to confront the idea… and the more Christine felt that there was something in this completely beyond her control. And it worried her.

But not as much as the idea of Erik coming here to help her… only to be ambushed by these brutal men and their weapons. But would he really come for her? God… the thought was too awful. If he did then he'd have at least a dozen men to contend with. Christine knew how strong he was, how quick and sharp, but he was still human, wasn't he? No one could take on so many single-handedly and expect to stroll away unharmed. It would be suicide.

Suddenly, Christine found herself wishing that he wouldn't come to her rescue. When all was said and done… it would be so much easier that way. Even if these men killed her, she knew that the people she cared for would be safe. Even Mama… Meg, even Raoul might be able to take care of her. She would be fine… as would everyone else.

She didn't welcome death… but neither did she want to be the cause of Erik's… and she found herself praying quietly.

_Please stay away… please stay away, Erik…

* * *

_

**The Sewers – Evening**

Erik had been impatiently waiting for this hour. For the first time in his life, it felt, he experienced a strange kind of excitement… like a child awaiting a long-anticipated gift.

He supposed it was similar, in a way. He had been waiting for what felt like a long time for an opportunity such as this… almost his whole life. Perhaps, in the years leading up to his discovery of Christine, he hadn't completely known what it was he had been anticipating. But he understood now. It was simply the chance to unleash something upon the world so purely beautiful and exquisite that no one could ever deny its magnificence.

He'd known it from the moment he heard her sing, even when he had furiously denied it to himself in those restless nights underground. It was her voice that was meant to be on stage in place of his… to carry his music to those fools who didn't understand real beauty. He had always understood that he would never be able to perform for the world… to astound everyone with his own voice. No… it was his place to write the music.

And now he had found the one to sing it. He would have that voice of hers under his guidance… teach her everything.

He berated himself suddenly. He really was behaving like a child… it was embarrassing. Taking a few deep breaths as he walked, he tried to calm himself down, remind himself that he was to be a teacher and guide…

… never anything more than that.

The necessary arrangements had been made. He'd found some quiet rooms in the Lower City and paid the man who owned the establishment handsomely to move a piano up into them… no questions asked. A part of him had briefly contemplated bringing her down to his home before he had viciously berated himself. He might be her teacher but taking her there was completely inappropriate. He had to draw a line somewhere.

And now evening had finally come, and the light had vanished from the city. Now he climbed up and through the sewer opening into the alleyway. He could hear the noise coming from inside and couldn't help but be relieved that it didn't seem too busy. At least that way Christine wouldn't be too caught up in work for her lesson.

He leaned back in the shadows to wait, growing more and more impatient as time went by. Where was that girl?

Two voices grew distinct from the noise inside as someone moved into the kitchen. One of them sounded like the Meg girl… Christine's friend. The other was the tapster.

"She still hasn't appeared?"

"No… I'm sorry."

"You still have no idea where she might be?"

"No… not even Mama Valerius knows."

The rest of the conversation was mostly lost on Erik as a sickening feeling seized him. Christine was not here? She was gone? And apparently she had not told anyone where she was.

Well, he might not know where she had disappeared to, but he didn't need to be a genius to understand her reason. He couldn't believe he had been so… so unbelievably stupid. How could he have been taken in by her sweet and innocent façade last night? It had all been a ruse to throw him off while she made her escape. She had even left her dear 'Mama' behind.

Well, she certainly was a remarkable little actress.

He felt himself seethe with bitter anger. How could he have been such a fool?

He was about to leave… to climb back down into the sewers and forget the whole wretched ordeal, when the door opened and the little dark-haired dancer walked out and nearly collided with him. The apology was half-way out of her mouth before she looked up and saw the mask. He didn't know why, but there was a kind of recognition in her eyes that made him halt in his retreat.

"You're him, aren't you!"

He only stared at her… or rather glared.

"Erik?"

His anger escalated. "She… told you about me?"

The fear in the girl's eyes became prominent in the face of his rage, and she faltered. "Well… yes. She said you'd been very kind."

Now it was Erik's turn to falter. "Excuse me?"

"She told me about how you helped her… when Stefan sent her…"

The girl trailed off, but Erik would have been too caught up in his thoughts to listen anyway. So Christine had spoken of him to her friend… and spoken well of him? But… if she had run off… how was it possible?

"Do you happen to know where she is? Is she alright?" He couldn't help but ask, the questions where out before he could think.

"I actually thought you might know," the girl admitted. "No one's seen her since last night… and the innkeeper said it looked like there'd been a struggle downstairs. I was scared… I thought maybe that Stefan had done something."

Erik mind was spinning. He couldn't help the gut feeling that rose when he realised just how awful his initial judgement of the situation had been. Christine was not that kind of person… she had meant what she said last night. She had not run away from him.

And now she had disappeared…

He had to agree with Meg's instincts. If anyone was to blame… Stefan was the first person to come to mind. He felt his fists clench at the thought of what that man might have done.

"If Stefan has done something," he said with quiet venom, "he will pay dearly for it."

Without waiting for a response he turned and strode out of the alleyway and into the street. His hand stole into his pocket and felt the coil that lay there like a snake waiting to strike. He itched to use it… picturing in his mind the sight of Stefan's head limp on his shoulders… his neck broken. He wanted to hear the sound it made…

He reached the Hanging Judge in quick time and, without bothering with secrecy, strode right inside. He didn't care that people turned to see him… that they remembered seeing the horror of his face from the previous week. These people didn't matter… he was looking for one man. But as he glared around the tavern he did not see Stefan anywhere. So instead he focused on a face that was at least familiar.

The man was one of Stefan's group and he quickly found himself seized by the collar and dragged outside into the alley. Erik hurled him mercilessly against the stone wall and then pinned him there by the neck.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

The man made an attempt at a chuckle, despite the choking grip. "Hah. We were wondering if you'd actually – "

He was interrupted mid-sentence as he was thrown against the opposite wall.

"Where is she?"

The man coughed, and Erik waited with murderous calm for him to speak. He had already gathered from the man's attempt at mockery that the whole thing had been set up. Stefan had done this deliberately, and had clearly been anticipating that Erik would come looking for Christine. He ground his teeth angrily for giving that bastard the opportunity to use Christine against him. He should have seen it coming… the obscure threats the man had made… and while Stefan was crude and vile he was not an idiot. He must have seen something to indicate that Christine meant something to Erik.

And did she? Certainly the thought of her being in danger was enough to make Erik's blood boil with rage. Yes… she meant something to him. What it was exactly was beside the point at this stage. Student, protégé, friend… he would find her and deliver her from her kidnappers.

The gang member barely had time to recover from the last assault before he was thrown violently against the wall once again.

"Where?" Erik prompted once again, his voice so chilling that it set the man's blood running cold.

"She's at the docks…" the man gasped, realising the danger he was in and eager to get his part of the job finished so he could depart. "Stefan's got her in one of the abandoned warehouses on the waterfront…"

Erik was no fool. He knew a trap when he saw one, and this was hardly the most impressive attempt he'd ever come across. He could guess at the reasons for it too… after he had killed that man last week, and the assassination before that. This was a planned act of vengeance, with him as the target. But Christine… he had involved her in this mess. This had nothing to do with her… it was her association with him that had placed her in danger. Trap or not… he had to get her out. He _would_ get her out.

"I suppose Stefan thinks he's clever… using her as bait to get to me?" he hissed at the man, who now looked genuinely frightened for his life. "I suppose he thought this was a brilliant plan… to hurt her and lure me into some kind of trap."

He calmly placed his hands on either side of the man's head and looked directly at him for a brief moment. The man barely had a chance to realise his intention before Erik snapped his neck with one swift motion of his hands. His body slumped to the ground at Erik's feet and he kicked it to one side with cold contempt.

"We'll see how brilliant his plan is…" he whispered menacingly.

He set off in the direction of the docks, his mind already a bloodbath as he imagined the awful vengeance he would take on these men and their leader for harming his student… _his _Christine. He would make certain they never touched her again…

No one was allowed to touch her.

* * *

A/N: Another cliffie... I know. You know how much I love them. Anyway... I think it can be said that Erik has snapped just a little, hehe. So how's he going to get Christine out of this one? Have to wait and see. Thanks for all the reviews! See you next time.


	18. Delight in Death

I thought I might not get this week's chapter up again... we had a powercut this afternoon, haha. But, thankfully, all is well now, and I can finally put an end to the evil cliffhanger. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter... hope this one lives up to your expectations. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 17

**Warehouse Interior - Night**

Darkness had fallen hours ago, and still there had been no change, except that the men surrounding her had grown more and more restless as their prey still failed to show. Christine knew that by now Erik must know she was missing. It was long past the time he had said he would come to meet her for her first lesson.

She felt so anxious. A part of her wanted to be rescued from this nightmare but… at the same time she dreaded the violence that might result if Erik did come to her aid. She didn't want him to be in danger because of her. It had been different in the times before… when he had helped her. Those times he had always had the upper hand… always been in control.

What possible control could he have over this situation?

She glanced up as three men, who had been sent to patrol the outside of the warehouse, returned and were relieved by three others. They had seen nothing, and she could tell that everyone, Stefan especially, was annoyed. They were itching to get their hands on Erik… for whatever reason.

She felt sobs welling up as she thought of him. Was it her fault that this was happening?

That thought was too much to bear, and she found herself instinctively straining at her bonds once again. But they showed no signs of loosening. They had been removed a few hours ago in order to be retied more securely, but she refused to give up. She would rather strain herself than simple sit there and do nothing. Doing nothing was like admitting helplessness, and she despised that.

"Getting nervous?"

She glared up at Stefan, who had once again approached to stand over her. Over the past few hours his cocky attitude had rubbed against her nerves, causing sparks of anger to emerge amidst her fear. The defiant, stubborn part of her wanted desperately to hit him, even when she knew it would probably be the biggest mistake of her life. In this regard at least, her bonds were a blessing.

"Don't ya worry, sweetheart. I'm sure he'll turn up sooner or later."

"Why are you doing this?" Christine demanded suddenly. "What has he ever done to you?"

At this, Christine was surprised to see Stefan's expression change into one of intense fury. It was enough to make her want to cringe away from him.

"Because that… that freak has caused enough problems fer me. I'm sick of it." He spat viciously on the ground. "More trouble than he's worth."

"Why can't you just leave him be?" she asked imploringly.

"Hah! Would you be sayin' that in my place, sweetheart? With two men dead?"

At this last statement, Christine felt as though her blood had turned icy cold. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she felt her stomach twist sickeningly at the implication that it was Erik who had…

Stefan must have read everything in her expression for he said, with a loud scoff: "Ah, don't look so surprised. Ya knew what he was from the start… s'not hard to tell. But he went too far this time…"

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No… I…."

"What? Ya don't believe me? Yer precious freak took a job and killed one of me best lads… but that ain't the real thorn in my side. It's what he done last week… when he killed a man just for revenge."

She felt cold and pale at these words and, although she couldn't deny that she had always suspected Erik's profession, to be confronted by it so plainly was almost unbearable. Yet here it was… plain as day. It was what she had always known and never dared confront… far worse, in her eyes, than Erik's face. He killed… for money. He made a living out of the deaths of others…

She faltered… but 'revenge'?

"Erik would never kill just for the sake of it," she insisted, aware that perhaps she was trying to convince herself more than Stefan. "He… he only does that because he has to make a living. He'd never do it for revenge. Never!"

But her words only elicited a foul, cruel laugh from everyone within earshot, and her eyes went wide as Stefan leaned closer to her.

"Don't fool yerself, sweetheart. It ain't the money he's after… it's the pleasure."

Christine felt the disgust well up inside her. Not at Erik… but at Stefan. She refused to believe his horrific accusations. Why should she? This man had made her life miserable… almost unbearable… and now he expected her to just sit back and eat up every poisonous lie he fed her? And Erik… what did any of them know of him? He was her friend… even if he didn't wish himself to be considered such. They didn't know him like she did… that gentler side of him which made her feel safe.

How could they say these thing? It was disgusting… and her anger swelled up. She was not prone to foul language… she had been far too well brought up for that. But she had heard plenty of it during her time in the city and, right now, she felt like screaming every obscenity she could think to repeat.

"You – "

But Stefan was fast, and the back of his hand caught her across the mouth before any of the words escaped. It knocked back Christine's temporary surge of bravado and reminded her of the dangerous situation she had been placed in. Her life was threatened… and so was Erik's, if he chose to come after her.

"Watch yer mouth," Stefan snarled. "I ain't in the mood to take lip from our bait. And don't forget… we got yer all tied up nice. We could do whatever we want with ya…"

Christine knew instantly what he meant by those words, and she felt the blood draining from her face once more, and the sickening feeling in her stomach returned three-fold. It was too late before she realised that she may have given too much away in her expression… when Stefan looked down at her curiously.

"Still shy about that, are ya?" he questioned, his voice filled with suspicion. Christine was unable to keep the blush from her cheeks, and she tried to look away, but found herself seized roughly by the hair and forced to look right into his face.

He knew.

"You sneaking little bitch!" he snarled at her viciously. "I guess that means ya need a lesson in doing as yer told…"

Christine felt the scream rising in her throat, and unleashed it with all her might… hoping… praying that it would be heard by someone… anyone.

* * *

**The Docks**

The three men on patrol outside circled the warehouse, keeping close together, as they had been told to do. They covered each other's backs… keeping an eye on dark corners and alleyways. None of them liked this particular part of the work… they would much rather have been inside the warehouse with the others. There might have been three of them, but even then they didn't feel entirely safe… not after all Stefan's warnings and what they had seen with their own eyes.

There was a noise a small distance away, and they all turned to it with weapons raised. Every one of them breathed a sigh of relief as a large wharf rat scurried out of an old pile of crates and into an alleyway.

"Stop being so jumpy," one of them said to his companions.

"Can't help it…"

The truth was, none of them could. They held their clubs at the ready as though they expected an attack at any moment… and their bodies were drenched in cold sweat as they listened.

There was another sound down a narrow alley, and one of the men swore he heard a voice, but, for some reason… he didn't say anything to the others. He just stood there… and didn't notice that his companions continued to move forward. Where was that coming from? It was so soft and… enticing. It wrapped his mind in a fog of exquisite sound that pushed away everything else… everything…

"I swear… I'm getting chills just thinking about this."

"Shut yer trap! I'm listening."

But they didn't hear anything, and by the time they realised their companion was gone, it was too late. They turned around to see nothing but the empty street.

"Ah, shit!"

"Where'd he go?"

"Don't ask… just get back inside!"

The other nodded, and began to head back towards the warehouse entrance, all but running to get there before something else got him. He didn't realise he had left his other companion trailing behind… not until he heard the gasp, abruptly cut off by the sound of a breaking neck.

The man only had the chance to turn around and see eyes of cold fire glaring back at him, and then the noose was around his neck and he was sinking to the ground, limp and lifeless.

With a simple, quick movement, Erik loosened the coil from his victim's throat and straightened up. There would be more inside, and possible others wandering around outside too, but they presented little worry to him. None of them were a match for him in terms of stealth and speed. As for strength, well… he had all the strength he required for this. Not to mention incentive.

As if to reinforce his purpose in being here, the night around him was suddenly pierced by a scream… a desperate cry for help.

He recognised the voice… and his pulse raced with barely contained fury.

He stared down at the body lying at his feet, and under the mask, his lips twisted into a cruel smile.

* * *

**Warehouse Interior**

Christine struggled frantically as she watched Stefan beckon two of his men closer. She heard him tell them to "keep her still", and her panic escalated to the point where she thought her heart was going to explode out of her chest.

But it was not her heart that exploded. Instead there was the sound of breaking glass and cracking wood from above, and they turned to look up, just in time to see a dark shape land on top of several of the gang members who had been standing guard. Christine stared wide eyed as the men heaved the body off them and over the edge of the balcony above. The body landed with a sickening thud on the ground a few metres away.

"No…" she found herself whispering, realising with horror that the lifeless figure was wearing a familiar black coat… and a mask…

There was a sound of nervous laughter from above as everyone peered down at the body.

And then there was a shout from above, and two of the men, very much alive, were sent hurtling over the edge of the balcony. They landed on the ground and she heard their bones crunch and their cries of pain as they continued to live in spite of their injuries.

And all the while, up above, the sounds of a fight raged on. She couldn't see the fighters, only imagine what was happening as she heard cries of rage and pain. But she had to know…

"Erik!"

"Christine!"

She never thought it would be so wonderful to hear the sound of her own name. But her elation soon gave way to panic as she watched the six men, including Stefan, ready themselves for when the fight came down to them. And it would… they could all hear it and, impossible as it sounded, Erik was winning.

But for how long?

Then the noise disappeared, and everything was silent except for the cries of the wounded men. There were no footsteps above and, for a horrible second, Christine thought Erik might have been killed.

"Damn it, where is he?" whispered one of Stefan's men.

Christine would have given a great deal to know the answer to that question herself. She watched, panicking, as the men surrounded the ladder which was the only means to ascend to the level above. Erik was effectively trapped, and Christine found herself calling out instinctively in warning.

"Erik! Don't come down!"

Stefan head snapped around, and Christine had only a brief moment to realise what he was about to do and braced herself just in time as he struck her across the face once again, sending a throbbing pain through her jaw and making her cry out.

"That's no way to treat a lady," said a cold voice from across the warehouse. Christine peered around Stefan to see Erik, who had apparently exited the warehouse from above in order to use the front entrance, which had been left unguarded when everyone gathered around the ladder. He looked dishevelled but otherwise unhurt, his long black hair a wild mess around his face which was unmasked for all to see. Even though she was relieved to see that he was alive, Christine felt her stomach turn a little at the sight.

"Guard her," Stefan barked to two of the men and they quickly took up positions on either side of Christine. The other three moved in towards Erik with their weapons raised, and Christine noticed their expressions and suddenly realised why Erik was unmasked. It had not been merely to disguise the body he had sent crashing through the window. As terrible as it was to admit, it gave him a powerful advantage over these men… who were too disgusted or down-right terrified to be sure what to do. They didn't know if they were facing a normal man or some demon from hell.

Her heart gave a leap when one of them finally worked up the courage to take a swing with his club, which was covered with large rusted nails. But the move was clumsy even to her, and Erik easily ducked it, delivering a swift punch to the man's gut that effectively winded him. Moments later he evaded a second attack, but nothing could have prepared Christine for the sight of Erik grabbing the man's head in his two hands and wrenching it mercilessly to one side. But it wasn't only that… it wasn't the sound of the man's neck breaking either… or watching his limp body fall to the ground.

It was the expression on Erik's twisted face… the malignant glee that seemed to resonant from inside him.

He was _enjoying_ this.

Christine could only watch in helpless horror as this man that she had wanted to be her teacher and friend slaughtered each man who came towards him, his expression never faltering from that look of vicious delight. He was cruel and utterly ruthless… and she felt ill.

The last man, standing beside her, gave a cry of rage and charged from his position, unable to control himself any longer after watching his companions fall. Erik, who had just wrenched a knife from one assailant's hand was ready, and once more evaded the attack, making one of his own with the knife he now held. There was a blur of motion, and a choking sound from the man as he was spun around by the motion. He stumbled, only a few feet from her, and Christine could see the open gash in his throat.

He tilted his head back as he crashed to his knees…

She felt something warm and wet spatter on her face…

She fainted.

* * *

**The Warehouse (Interior)**

Erik smiled as he watched the man fall and tossed the knife aside. He didn't relish using such weapons but seeing the man's blood spilt on the ground was pleasing in its own way. Now they all lay around him…those that weren't dead would be soon from their injuries. He was satisfied with that. He breathed heavily from his exertions, but the thrill was still rushing through his body and he felt energised as he looked down at the victims of the Angel of Death.

Except there was one victim missing.

He turned and headed for the door, rushing out into the alley outside just in time to catch up with the running figure of Stefan. Seizing him by the back of the neck, he turned the gang-leader around to face him directly.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked caustically.

"Get tha hell off me!" the other all but screamed at him. His fear was plain and Erik drank it in, delighted with the sweet irony that this fool had brought this doom upon himself.

"Isn't this the confrontation you wanted?" Erik mocked him. "I thought you were intending to bring me down? You and your unstoppable men and your superb plans… I was supposed to be buried under the earth by now. What could possibly have gone wrong? Where was the flaw in your plan?"

"Ya freak!" screeched the terrified man. "Yer a demon… yer a goddamn monster!"

"Then you should have known better than to do such a thing… to try and use my supposed weakness against me. You should have known… you should never have underestimated me. It was your mistake… and this is how you pay for it."

He gave the man a chance to cry out, to lose his last shred of pride (if he had ever had any) to plea for mercy, and then his neck snapped between his fingers. He watched as the life left Stefan's eyes and felt the limpness of his body. He was dead… he would never trouble Erik again.

He would never trouble Christine again.

Christine…

He felt the bloodlust recede as he remembered his other purpose incoming here. Turning swiftly on his heel, Erik made his way back inside the warehouse, and pulled up short when he saw that Christine's head had fallen forward on her chest. She was only held upright by the ropes around her delicate body.

An awful sense of fear rose up in him, and within seconds he was kneeling before her, pushing her golden locks away from her face and lifted her head up. Her cheeks were stained with blood, and for an awful second he thought it might be her own before he felt a fluttering pulse under his fingers. He looked her over and saw with relief that she was breathing, and completely unharmed, except where the tight ropes had dug into her skin, drawing blood.

"Christine?" he whispered, hearing his concern woven into her name and, for once, not caring. "Christine… wake up."

There was only the tiniest of murmurs from her…but it brought him immense relief nevertheless. Looking around him, he picked up a discarded knife and swiftly cut through her ropes. Immediately, without support, her body fell forward and connected with his. He stiffened at the strange and delightful feeling. She was so warm… and her skin when he placed his hands on her arms was so soft.

With infinite care he adjusted his grip and lifted her up. Her head rested against his shoulder, her hair brushing his bare cheek.

The mask…

Lowering her gently so that she was leaning against him now, supported by one arm, he reached down and recovered the mask from the man he had placed it on, replacing it quickly over his own face. He had dealt with enough exposure for one night… not that any of them would now live to tell what they had seen.

Then, after also placing his recovered coat around Christine's body, he once more lifted his little angel up and began to carry her out of that death-filled place.

She did not belong here.

* * *

A/N: There you have it then. The rescue... albeit a slightly violent one. Let me know if you think I should up the rating a bit for language and violence (can't help it with these guys, I'm afraid, hehe). I'm not sure about the reality of spurting blood and whatnot... but allow mea little artistic lisence, please. Anyway... thank you for your reviews. Please keep them coming and I'll see you next week! 


	19. Renewed Fear

Here we go... another new chapter. I'm glad the last chapter was so well recieved. It was just the kind of reaction I hoped for... everyone seeing the violence as necessary. So... lets find out what Christine's reaction was... Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 18

**Unknown Inn – Morning**

Christine woke with a jolt from a dream where ever part of her skin was covered in hot, burning blood. She sat up in the bed and her hands flew instantly to her face to try and scrub it away, to panicked and frightened to utter more than a whimper.

After a few moments she realised that there was no blood anywhere. There was pain though… her jaw felt sore, as did her wrists and ankles. She felt the bandages on them when she flexed her joints. Slowly her memory returned, and she understood what had happened. She hadn't realised just how deeply the ropes had cut her when they had…

She shuddered and clenched her teeth, causing another jolt of pain to shoot through her bruised jaw. She reached up with her fingers and tried to massage the ache away. He skin felt hot and feverish, and she was shaking all over as memory after memory hit her, nearly every one accompanied by a painful shudder and a sickening lurch of the stomach.

She had been so frightened… so very frightened.

And then Erik…

For a second her heart soared with gratitude, before shrinking back into her chest, drawing all her blood back with it. In her head, she saw Erik's face… and not only that, but his terrifying expression. She had seen anger before… violent rage… but never, in all her life, had she seen such bloodlust in a person's face. And worse, his enjoyment of it.

It was terrible… a part of her knew that she should be glad to be alive. That she should thank Erik for risking his life to come and rescue her.

But still… all those people…

She gave a dry sob and, in the empty silence that followed, finally registered the sound of raised voices beyond the door that was opposite the bed she lay in. For the first time she took in her surroundings. She must be in an inn of some kind, but had no idea which one. This was a little too up-market to be the Dancing Herald. Erik must have brought her here after… after last night.

And now was he standing outside the room? Although she couldn't hear the words being spoken, she was certain that one of the voices belonged to Erik. She couldn't fail to recognise it… even if it was filled with anger and frustration. The other voice seemed familiar too, but she couldn't place it.

She wanted to hear what was being said…

Determined, she pushed back the crisp white sheets and made to stand up. But she hadn't realised quite how weak her body was, and she lost her balance, stumbling against a small bedside table and jarring her side painfully. She cried out as she slumped to the floor.

The voices beyond the door stopped.

* * *

**Unknown Inn**

Erik was getting more and more annoyed with every passing second, and was very close to simply throwing the man before him out of the little room that was adjacent to the bedroom in which Christine was resting. He didn't want to risk waking her, but that might be inevitable as their voices were raised by mutual frustration with each other.

"You're forgetting, Nadir, I did not ask you to come here. I do not want or need your help."

"I'm merely concerned for the young girl's well-being," the man replied. "And yours."

Erik scoffed loudly. He glared at the man before him, cursing his seemingly inherent need to interfere. In the early hours of the morning he had gone to fetch some things for Christine… to take care of her injuries, and had the damnable misfortune to run into Nadir Khan, who had heard about Christine's disappearance and questioned Erik as though it were all _his_ doing. In the end Erik had allowed the man to follow him back to the inn, and explained coldly what exactly had happened.

To his annoyance, Nadir received the story with a mixture of concern and anger.

"Erik, I don't think you quite appreciate the situation…"

"The 'situation' has been dealt with… permanently."

Nadir sighed. "That's what I'm worried about."

Erik made a dismissive gesture. "Christine is safe… that was my only concern. And I don't think the world will miss the likes of Stefan and his lackeys."

"That is not the point!"

Nadir had been about to continue when their conversation was interrupted by a soft cry and the sound of a body hitting the ground. Erik, immediately forgetting Nadir, rushed past him into the small bedroom to see Christine slumped on the floor by the bed, obviously having tried to get up. He said her name gently, and her head jerked up at him. He was taken aback by the hint of fear that was present in her eyes and hesitated before finally reaching out and lifting her small body up, replacing her carefully in the bed. He was aware of Nadir watching him closely… the man had watched him like this since arriving here… but he tried to ignore this, even as he was aware just how strange this behaviour must seem.

"Are you hurt?"

She shook her head but he could feel that she was trembling all over. She was more shaken by the experience than he had originally imagined, he realised as he seated himself on the bed close to her. He berated himself… of course she would be shaken after what those men had done to her.

"You don't need to be afraid, Christine… you're safe. Those men will never hurt you again."

The change in her whole demeanour was shocking. A powerful shudder gripped her body and Erik saw her face grow horrifically pale. Her hand flew to her mouth… she looked as though she would be ill…

He reached out to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she flinched away from him. He heard the whimper come from behind her hand and the realisation hit him like a lightning strike.

She was afraid of him.

In spite of himself he felt his anger flare at seeing her this way. Hadn't he risked his life for her? Was this any way for her to react to what he had done? He would have thought she would be grateful but instead… no doubt being reminded of his face… seeing it again, had reignited her disgust and fear of him.

"A fine way for you to treat someone who just saved your life," he snarled bitterly.

"Erik!"

It was Nadir who spoke, approaching the bed from the opposite side. Christine was too busy staring wide-eyed at Erik to speak. He watched as she chewed her lip, and wondered if she was now feeling guilty for her reaction. Well, good… after what he had done… for her to react in such a way was just appalling. She deserved that guilt.

"Perhaps you would rather I'd left you there with those men… perhaps you would have preferred that to seeing _this_ again." He made a violent gesture towards the mask, and saw her flinch, which was all the answer he needed, except that she suddenly shook her head. Her expression didn't really chance, but he saw something in her eyes that prevented him from storming away immediately.

"No…" she murmured in a tiny, frightened voice that infuriated him. "It's wasn't… it's not…"

"What?" he snapped at her. "What? I suppose you have some other reason why suddenly the sight of me fills you with disgust. Why suddenly you seem horrified to be in the same room as me! Why is that? Tell me!"

He would have seized her in his anger… and god only knew what he might have done in this sudden fit of rage, but he found himself restrained by Nadir, who shouted desperately at him:

"For God's sake, Erik! Stop! Can't you see you're frightening her?"

And he was, Erik realised. As he pulled himself out of the other man's grip, he realised that Christine was shrinking further and further away from him, her back against the wooden headboard. She had brought her knees up to her chest, curled up into a little protective ball…

He didn't understand… what had he done?

"Why?" he asked again, although this time the question was quieter, desperate in its own way. For some reason seeing Christine react to him like this was painful… he wanted to put a stop to it. He wanted to make her smile at him the way she had done when he offered to teach her. Where had that smile gone? Why wasn't she smiling?

As if seeing his desperation made her relent a little, Christine uncurled herself just a little, but not completely, he noted. Her breathing was ragged as she obviously fought to find the right words to express what was wrong. Erik fought desperately to keep his patience in check as he waited.

"You… you killed them."

Her words confused him. Of course he knew what she was referring to, but why did it matter? Of course they were dead… had she really expected him to let them live after what they had done.

"And?" he asked without thinking, and he saw the shudder go through her body again. Behind him, he heard Nadir's worried sigh.

"But… they're dead," she sobbed.

"You make it sound like some great tragedy," he retorted, annoyed at what seemed to be regret in her voice. "I suppose you would rather I had let them kill the two of us? Would _that_ have been a more satisfactory end for you?"

She shook her head, another sob escaping her.

"Then what?" he demanded, his patience beginning to wane.

She bit her lip anxiously, looking directly at him, and Erik was unprepared for the sudden jolt that went through him at the look in her eyes, as if he had somehow let her down… disappointed her. And while a part of him was outraged at the idea, another part wanted desperately to know what he could possibly have done to deserve her disapproval… so that he could set it right once more.

"You… enjoyed it," she murmured and with that her body seemed to be overcome with shudders and sobs. She curled herself up again and began to cry into her knees, leaving him to stare at her bowed head in disbelief.

He had enjoyed it? Enjoyed the killing? Well… he could not deny that. It had given him great pleasure to rid the world of those men. He had wanted to do it, so that they would never bother him or Christine ever again. It had seemed a fitting punishment for threatening the life of his student… the one person he considered worthy of his attention.

And she hated him for it?

Without a word he rose to his feet, turning and leaving the room. He felt pained… confused… he didn't know what to say in his own defence, not when confronted by Christine's sobs.

He heard the door shut behind him, and Nadir's sigh. He knew what would come next.

"Erik… I hope you can understand her reasons for – "

"She hates me," he interrupted emotionlessly. "What more is there to understand?"

"It's not hatred, Erik. For God's sake… do you even realise what this girl has been through? Last night she witnessed more death than anyone should ever have to see in an entire lifetime! And it was all at the hands of someone she believed to be her friend. What woman in her right mind wouldn't be shaken after that?"

In spite of trying to steel himself against the man's words, they found some mark inside Erik that hurt more than anything. Never before had one of Nadir's moral lectures prompted such a reaction… he'd always been able to laugh it off… but now, with Christine in the picture. Suddenly it was not so easy to dismiss the matter. Now every twinge of enjoyment he had felt last night was like a thorn being stabbed into his flesh.

"Erik you have to understand… the poor girl, she's not prepared for this."

"What would she have me do?" Erik snapped suddenly. "Turn back the clock and do things differently? Perhaps if I went back to all those years ago I could change myself to please her? Would that be enough, do you think?"

"Erik, I don't think that's fair on her. Please… why not try to explain things to her? I'm certain she will try to understand."

"Like you do, I suppose? Hah! Even after everything you know of my past you still pester me about the things I do."

"I understand why you despise humanity, Erik. I know you have every right to… but that does not mean I can condone your actions. It's different. That girl knows nothing about what you've been through. I daresay she has some idea but… perhaps with time she'll grow to understand your behaviour and then…"

"And then perhaps I'll change for her?" Erik asked spitefully.

"Would you rather never see her again? Something tells me that's not the case."

Erik turned to face the foreign man, yellow eyes flaming at what he seemed to be implying. Of all things, Erik hated to be manipulated, and he could see that this was what Nadir Khan was trying to do now.

"Don't try to play with my emotions," he snarled warningly. "I have none."

"I beg to differ. If you had no emotions… you would not have gone to see her before… and you would certainly not have risked your life to help her."

His hands clenched angrily, but he found himself restrained by the fact that, perhaps, Nadir had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. Yes, he had already admitted to himself that he cared for Christine in some way… but to acknowledge that he cared what she thought of him? That was different. It was painful… he had never allowed that before.

"Think about it, Erik," Nadir said calmly. "Please… try to see this from her point of view."

"Oh, because I'm sure she will pay _me_ the same courtesy."

"Give her the opportunity. Who knows…perhaps she just needs the chance."

Erik found himself sighing as he stared at the door that separated them from Christine. If he listened carefully he swore he could hear her still crying gently.

Would it hurt? To give her that chance? After all… when he had gone to her to see if she really was willing to try and look past his face, she had confounded him utterly with her offer of friendship, and then her wonderful acceptance of his offer of lessons. He remembered how the prospect had filled him with uncharacteristic excitement. If he left things as they were, he doubted that those lessons would ever take place, either because she was too afraid or because he was too angry at feeling judged for actions that, from his perspective, seemed reasonable enough.

Did he want to give up that voice?

Was it even her voice he was worried about losing anymore?

Without a word, he went back to the door and, trying to hide his hesitation, opened it and looked down at the young woman on the bed. She was still curled up protectively, and when she looked up at him she still had that hint of fear in her eyes, and glistening tear-tracks covered her cheeks.

What was he meant to say now?

"I'm sorry."

He turned his head and stared at her. Had she actually...

"I'm sorry," she said again, this time with a deep sigh that he didn't understand. "It's just… I never… I mean, I…" she was shaking again, trying to find the right words to say and growing more and more distressed as she failed.

"I know you took a risk… coming to help me. And I'm grateful, I really am."

Looking at her, seeing her eyes… he actually found that he believed her. But still…

"But seeing what you did… all those men…" she trailed off again.

"They were going to hurt you, Christine," Erik told her. "They wanted to kill me."

"I know… and believe me, I didn't want that. I didn't want you to get hurt at all! But… seeing how much you… enjoyed it. After being so kind to me… it just scared me that you could take such pleasure from… from killing."

Now it was Erik's turn to sigh. He'd never attempted to explain himself to anyone before… and he'd never imagined he would do so under these circumstances. Suddenly he was answerable to this girl for his behaviour… and he wasn't sure how to feel about it anymore. Part of him was angry and yet he didn't say anything! He didn't storm out and put the whole thing behind him.

"I suppose… for you, it must have been very upsetting," he said at last. It was all he could muster at this point… some show that he could understand her view of the situation.

"Why?" she asked softly.

He looked down at her, and saw to his surprise that her fear and been replaced by… no, it couldn't possibly be concern. That was impossible.

"It's the way I am," he replied, not wanting, at this point, to expand on his reasons. Right now the last thing he needed was to divulge his life story to this girl in order to explain himself. Thankfully, Christine seemed to see that he didn't want to continue, and remained silent for a while as they both remained locked in their private thoughts, wondering where to go from this point.

As the silence drew on, Erik found himself thinking, bitterly, that this really would be the end and, before he could stop himself, he said, regretfully: "I suppose you won't want to take your lessons from a murderer."

There was another silence and Erik, unable to look at her, was convinced that that really was the case.

"Erik… I didn't mean…"

He scoffed bitterly at her attempted protest. "Don't try and tell me that you're perfectly happy with the idea."

She bit her lip, and he knew that this was true. "No… I… I'm not happy with the idea of you killing. But that doesn't mean… that I don't want you to teach me."

Again, all he could do as stare, speechless, as she smiled just a little and lowered her head in embarrassment.

"Despite everything… I still think you're a good person."

He doubted that. He'd never believed such a thing… no matter how many times Nadir impressed the idea upon him. He'd never much cared about being a good person either… it didn't matter to him.

But, right now, he didn't feel like denying anything… making some angry dismissal and reasserting the fact that he was, and always would be, a monster. Instead he focused on one thing… Christine was still willing to accept lessons from him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, not entirely certain whether to believe it or not.

Her smile widened. It was a brave smile, and he knew that, in spite of how she behaved and what she said, some part of her was still afraid of him. But perhaps, in time, she might learn to accept the way he was… accept him the way no one else ever had.

In spite of a lifetime of being led to believe this would never happen suddenly, in the prescence of this young woman, he feltthat first terribleglimmer of hope.

How wonderful that would be...

* * *

A/N: Well, I liked the chapter, in spite of it being a little angsty. I think I managed to get the right balance betwen all the characters... but please let me know what you think. Thanks for all your reviews! I'll see you next week!


	20. The First Lesson

Gah... I'm getting terrible at this. Sorry about no update last week, everyone. I blame summer holidays... all this free time and hot weather. It's just such a temptation to laze about and do nothing. But hopefully I'm going to get my act together now. So, once again... sorry for last week... and I hope you enjoy this new chapter.

* * *

Chapter 19

**The Dancing Herald – Evening (A Few Days Later)**

"Are you almost finished, Christine?"

"Yes, almost," she called back to Meg as she finished drying the last of the plates and put them away in the cupboard. Wiping her hands on her apron, she then hung it up on one of the hooks and rushed to the washroom. She splashed water on her face and made the mistake of looking in the mirror.

She couldn't help but wince. It was painfully obvious that the past few days had taken their toll. She looked pale and tired… she hadn't slept well since the night of her kidnapping, plagued by awful dreams that made her shudder to remember. She rubbed her cheeks to try and encourage some colour back into them… if Erik saw he like this he would know something was amiss…

When she realised that there was nothing else to be done, Christine ran upstairs to her room, where Meg and Mama Valerius were waiting.

"Alright… I'll be back later tonight," she said, her voice tinged with nervousness. She kissed Mama goodbye and then left, followed closely by Meg.

"Are you sure about this?" her friend asked worriedly.

Truth be told, Christine wasn't at all sure about any of it. Ever since coming back she had fought off her fears about tonight and for the most part she had been successful. But when she had finally been forced to explain to Meg about why she had disappeared… and also give Mama Valerius an abridged version of events, and now Meg would not leave her alone about it. It would have been impossible to avoid telling the young dancer every detail… especially after her own brief encounter with Erik… but Christine was beginning to regret telling her. She kept asking if Christine was alright…. Is she was sure she was doing the sensible thing…

Christine was nervous enough without that.

She had arranged to meet Erik outside in the alleyway, as they had originally planned. But circumstances were different now. After what happened, Christine couldn't quite approach the idea with the same excitement. Her stomach churned as she went through the kitchen and she bit her lip before exiting. The alleyway was apparently empty, but Christine was too on guard to believe this was actually the case. And besides, she was starting to anticipate Erik's entrances.

She addressed the darkest corner of the alley.

"Erik?"

He stepped forward, materialising from the darkness like some black spectre. Before what had happened this might have intrigued her, but now it only disturbed her. How easily would it be for him to kill some innocent person? They would never know he was there until he reached out from the shadows and…

She stopped herself. No… she must not think like that. It would only make her attitude more nervous, and she did not want to upset Erik. Not after seeing what he was capable of.

But he must have seen something in her expression, because immediately he asked: "Is there something wrong?"

She shook her head. "No, nothing," she said, trying to sound earnest. But the scrutinising look Erik gave her, and the cold atmosphere that suddenly descended told her that she had not convinced him. That shouldn't have surprised her… she wasn't even convincing herself.

"Well then…" he said, making a gesture for her to walk beside him. She did so, and they made their way towards the Lower City in relative silence.

Christine curses herself all the way, wanting desperately to say something that would lift the tension. But all that she heard in her head was the word "killer", and it reverberated throughout her body, sending chills up her spine. She shivered and rubbed her arms to try and fight off the inner cold.

"I would suggest purchasing a coat."

She glanced up at Erik, blushing when she realised he had been watching her. His gaze was intense, and for a moment she wondered if he knew the real reason for her shivering.

"I should," she agreed with a nervous laugh. "I just never had the money… because of…" she trailed off as she was reminded of Stefan and his men. Despite being a little relieved that he was no longer able to make her life a misery… that she was no longer required to steal for him… it still caused her some inner disturbance to think of how he, and the rest of his gang, had met their end.

The fact that she was walking beside the man who caused their deaths did not help to any degree.

Dear God… she hoped that the lessons would help distract her from these kinds of thoughts.

"It would not help for you to catch a cold."

Was that concern in his voice? She wished that she could read his expression to see if he was just being polite or not, but the mask prevented that, and his eyes were turned away from her now. She suddenly hated herself for being so inadvertently cruel. This might not be easy for her, but it must be just as difficult for Erik. She just had to remember what she had been telling herself over the last few days… her certainty that he was indeed a good person. She had seen enough evidence of that herself.

And Nadir Khan had faith in him… so why shouldn't she?

Finally they reached the Lower City, and Erik showed her the building that he had found where they could have their lessons. It was in a quiet area, for which she was grateful, and when they entered the building it seemed practically deserted. How much had Erik paid to ensure their privacy? Christine wasn't rude enough to ask, but it played on her mind just the same.

She soon found herself on the top floor, in a large living room that was part of a much bigger apartment. She saw little bedrooms through various open doors. It was not extravagantly furnished, but certainly comfortable. She would have loved to live in a place such as this, and said so.

"Do you own these rooms?" she asked.

"No… I've merely paid to use them for your lessons. It is only a temporary arrangement."

"It's very nice," she commented, desperate to keep some form of conversation going. Erik, who had already moved towards a sleek black piano in one corner, was acting in a way that worried her. "It's much cosier than where I have my lessons with Madame Carlotta."

There was a silence, one Christine didn't quite have the courage to fill as Erik turned to her. The look in his yellow eyes almost made her flinch away.

"Since you are to be my student for an indefinite amount of time," he said in a stern voice, "I think I should make one or two things perfectly clear."

Frowning in worry, Christine nodded.

"First… I want you to forget _everything_ that woman taught you. And if you so much as mention her name I'll throw you in the gutter, is that understood?"

Christine had to stifle a nervous giggle. She wasn't quite certain whether Erik had meant that last part as a joke or not, but she made a note anyway never to take the risk of mentioning Carlotta. She nodded dutifully, and immediately tried to push aside the lessons she took with the diva.

"Second… I want you to put absolute faith in me where your voice is concerned. I will help you realise your full potential… but you must trust my judgement, and do not question it."

The tone in his voice was so serious that Christine suddenly wondered if she had not given him something far more important than she imagined. It was as though her voice was capable of things far beyond her comprehension. It was disturbing to imagine that she possessed something that she wasn't sure she could control.

She shook herself. It was her voice… not some weapon. She shouldn't be afraid of it.

"Now…" Erik went on purposefully, taking a seat at the piano. "We'll begin with a few warm up exercises."

It was only the very beginning of the lesson, but within minutes Christine was breath-taken. In fact, Erik was forced to snap her out of her trance when she didn't respond to the scales he played. But she couldn't help it. The movement of his hands had hypnotised her. She'd never imagined he would play so elegantly… with such pure finesse. And that had only been an exercise. Suddenly she wanted to watch, and hear, him playing one of the famous piano concertos. She couldn't stop looking at his hands. Without the black leather gloves they were painfully thin, but the reminder of his death-like appearance was quashed by the way they moved… with such fluid, effortless grace… over the piano keys.

"Christine?" Erik interrupted her reverie once more. She found herself blushing again and lowered her gaze.

"I'm sorry… it's just… the way you play…"

"The focus of these lessons is _your_ talent, not mine," he told her, though she swore she could feel the humour in his tone.

She nodded, and they continued, slightly more at ease with each other than before. Erik's skill seemed to be infectious, because Christine swore that every note seemed to come more easily to her than before. By the time she was warmed up to Erik's satisfaction she felt as though she could have sung anything.

The piece Erik selected was, rather ironically, something that Carlotta had also had her sing, though Christine obviously did not mention this. It was one of the easier opera arias, sung by one of the lesser characters in an opera called "Lady Vanity". It was sung by a poor, unfortunate young man (who would always be played by a girl on stage).

When Carlotta had handed her this piece, the implication had been clear – an unimportant song and character for an unimportant singer. It had been very hard for Christine not to resent the piece because of this. But then… why was Erik giving her the same music? Surely he was not implying… not after what he had told her about her voice.

Something in her face must have given away her inner turmoil, because Erik next said:

"This piece may seem insignificant, but in light of your inexperience with opera… and lack of _decent_ training, it will be suitable for now… until you are more familiar with this type of music."

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by the look in Erik's yellow eyes, and she remembered his rule about not questioning his teaching. So instead she nodded obediently and allowed herself to be reassured by his words. At least there was reason behind his actions.

They began the piece, giving particular emphasis to breathing techniques and how to support the longer notes. But compared to other opera pieces she had heard, it was still relatively unimpressive and for a moment she panicked about what would become of her lessons when she heard Erik mention something.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ornamentation, Christine," he repeated with weary patience. "It will lend the piece a little more flair. It is quite commonly used… with varying degrees of effectiveness."

She frowned at him, still not quite certain that she understood. With a sigh, Erik indicated to her a part in the music where the notes were relatively straight forward. He played the notes for her on the piano and she listened carefully.

"Now… I want you to sing it like this…"

And he played again, but this time more notes were added, though without forcing the music to fall out of the correct rhythm. She looked from Erik to the piano and then swallowed hard.

"I… I…"

Another sigh, and this time Erik raised a hand for her to be silent.

"Like this…"

And before Christine knew what was happening, a sound unlike anything she could have imagined emerged from behind Erik's mask.

_And in sleepless nights,_

_I wish I could watch her,_

_Peaceful, gentle… sweeter than light_

It was only one small part of the song… but it was more than enough to make Christine's eyes go wide and her mouth slack. She'd heard wonderful voices before… heard sounds that could be described as beautiful. But it was all noise compared to the exquisite notes that Erik produced. It was as if the very essence of music resided within him… within this remarkable man that she now regarded with a mixture of awe and admiration. It made her nearly forget who he was… the things she had seen him do.

The world had receded to the nothing… and all it contained was the two of them, and the perfection of sound that she had just heard.

There was nothing else that mattered. Absolutely nothing.

* * *

**Apartment, The Lower City – Night **

Erik watched the change in Christine's face as he opened his mouth to sing. He was aware of the effect that it would have on her and could not contain a smile. It would have been impossible for him to deny his secret delight in using this particular gift of his to make Christine forget, for a time at least, that he was a ruthless killer.

That was the extraordinary thing about his voice. It was as though he could change how others saw him. He had seen, and used, this 'ability' as a child and, for the briefest of moments, all who listened would forget everything else about him… even about themselves. It wasn't like composing and singing his own works… which were filled with the raw emotion of his reality, and lashed out at the surrounding world and all who dared listen like some wild, uncontrollable beast.

Other music, filled with soft, tender emotions he had never allowed himself to feel…

Watching Christine, with that look of wonder on her face, he could imagine the effect his voice had upon her… especially given her love of beautiful music. She continued to stare at him, unable to speak, and the silence dragged on before he was forced to end that precious moment in which he was no longer a monster to her.

"Christine?"

He _saw_ her return to reality. She blinked once and shook her head, and he wondered exactly what thoughts she was attempting to dislodge… or what illusions perhaps. He asked her very quietly if she understood now, and she nodded before finally finding her own voice once more.

"Erik… your voice…"

He did not wish to discuss it now, and turned back to the piano, making an impatient gesture for her to continue, and was surprised when she completely ignored it.

"How did you learn to sing like that?"

"I didn't, since you ask," he replied.

She didn't ask what he meant by that and, when he risked glancing over towards her, he saw that she was still appeared enthralled by the memory of his voice, perhaps even a little afraid. Feeling restless in the silence that followed, he placed his hands on the pianos keys and played a chord.

"Do you want to continue?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of weariness. He fully expected her to say 'no'… that she would be too disturbed by the power of his voice to risk staying. So he was surprised when she replied:

"I'm sorry. Yes… I do want to continue. It's just… I didn't expect…. Your voice, it's so beautiful." He saw her blush furiously. "I wish I could sing like that."

He couldn't help but smile at her innocence… how she so grossly underestimated her own ability.

"With my help… you will," he assured her with a gentle nod. She blushed again, and he tilted his head at her, frowning slightly behind the mask. "Don't you believe I can do such a thing?"

"I sometimes imagine you're capable of anything."

The meaning behind that statement was unclear, but Erik felt himself tense up at what she might have been implying and the atmosphere thickened around them, turning cold. Christine must have felt it too, because she bit her lip, and her cheeks turned pale. His fists clenched on top of the piano and once again there was a twisting in his gut that he had never felt before… the feelings that he had never allowed himself to feel.

She was still afraid of him. Damnit… of course she was. Her demeanour ever since he had arrived to meet her in the alleyway was evidence enough of that. Even her appearance… her pretty features, now pallid from worry and lack of sleep, no doubt… it was all his doing. And why should he expect anything else? For all her good intentions, her attempts at being pleasant and friendly… she was sickened by him. Every word… every nervous gesture… even the way she stood so perfectly still beside him was proof.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean…"

"Never mind," Erik replied coldly. "If you wish to go on, then let us do so…"

And they did. The rest of the lesson was infected by an underlying tension that wouldn't be dispelled completely, although it grew less and less potent as time wore on. Erik wondered if this was how their lessons would always be now… with Christine afraid to speak out of turn, and he always on the verge of losing his temper. It was probably only through some minor miracle that he had not already snapped… but somehow he knew he could not afford that… not at this stage… when their so-called friendship was already in such a fragile state.

By the end, there was already a marked improvement in Christine's voice. Her breathing had improved… and was able to support the notes better than before. There was still much improvement to be made, but for a beginning, this was very satisfactory.

As he walked her back towards the Dancing Herald, he gave her some instructions regarding practice… not to strain her voice, and especially not to tempt fate by wandering around in the cold. She nodded dutifully and that only made him feel all the worse for their situation. He wanted her to trust his ability to train her… not be too afraid to do something wrong in case he became angry.

As he watched her go back inside after an uncomfortable goodnight, he was bitterly aware that, wherever this chain of events he had chosen to set in motion might lead, it would cause him an unbelievable amount of pain… pain that he could have, and most likely should have, avoided.

He narrowed his yellow eyes. He was not afraid… if necessary he would see this through to the end. He had dealt with more than his fair share of suffering in his lifetime… what more could life possible offer him in the way of pain? No… he would not be turned away from this new calling… not for anything.

And God help any man who dared interfere.

* * *

A/N: Lots of E/C interaction here... first music lesson and finally we hear him sing! I hope I got the tension between them right... considering what happened, which Christine trying her best and Erik just being... Erik, hehe. We're going to be getting more into the relationships now... I won't say in what ways... you'll have to wait for the next update, hehe. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed... thanks for all your lovely reviews. See you next time!


	21. Two and Two Together

Well, another missed update. I think I'll end up settling into this once-a-fortnight update thing... at least during the holidays, just so I don't keep disappointing myself (and you guys) when I miss weekly updates, hehe. I'm glad the tension in the last chapter seemed to go down well with you all. Now... lets see what you think of this one...

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 20

**The Dancing Herald – Afternoon**

Nadir Khan sighed with annoyance as he stepped over the threshold of the inn and tried to shake off the water droplets that clung to his coat and hat. Even the noise within the tavern was relatively quiet compared to the hammering rain outside. Nevertheless, Nadir had not allowed it to interfere with his intentions of coming here tonight.

Just the day before he had received a letter from his employers, who required him to leave the city for a few weeks in order to secure some business deals along the coast. The timing was infuriating, to say the least. He had hoped that he might find some respite from his work so that he could keep a watchful eye on Erik and his new student. Of course, he should have known better than to hope for such a thing… but it didn't take the edge of his frustration.

So, now that he was required to leave, he had determined to at least make sure that things were still alright between the two, considering the rather unfortunate events of the previous week. He had not spoken to either Erik or Christine since the young girl had returned to the Dancing Herald, and was anxious to see how she was coping with circumstances, since she had decided not to decline Erik's offer of lessons even after what happened.

He would have liked to have a deeper conversation with Erik too… and learn more about his surprising demeanour around the young woman. It had been so strange… the way he had rushed to her side when she fell… his unfiltered concern...

More than once Nadir had suspected that perhaps…

He shook his head. A few weeks ago he would never have even dared imagine such a thing. It wouldn't do to think about it now. Whatever the future might bring… he must not push Erik too much. Or Christine, for that matter.

Speaking of whom… he cast his eyes around the tavern. He hoped to see her working, or even on stage, but she was not and he wondered if she was even there at all before he caught sight of a familiar figure emerging from the kitchen, balancing a food-laden tray in each hand with surprising skill. He managed to catch her eye and was gratified that she smiled in greeting before moving past him. She still carried a faint mark on her jaw from where she had been struck, and her eyes looked tired, as though she had not been sleeping well, but otherwise she seemed in good spirits. He waited patiently for her to deliver the food to the men who had ordered it, and then gave her a warm smile as she approached him.

"Mr Khan… I didn't expect to see you here."

There was no hint in her voice that she was unhappy to see him, and he laughed a little.

"Yes… I'm sorry to bother you when you're busy," he said, sincerely. "I just wondered if I might have a word with you."

There was an instant change in her features, and he realised he had perhaps given her the wrong impression.

"Is something wrong?" she asked in a strained voice.

"No, no…" he replied hastily, disturbed by the sudden change from cheerfulness to near-panic he had just witnessed. He realised quite suddenly that she was putting on an extremely brave face… no doubt to avoid worrying those close to her. But beneath the surface there was a deeply rooted tension that he wasn't sure was caused by her experience, or her fear of Erik.

He hoped to god it was more the former than the latter.

"Actually," he continued, trying to sound reassuring, "I just wanted to ask after you. You see… I'm leaving again tomorrow, for a few weeks, and I just wanted to make sure that everything was alright between you and… and Erik."

She nodded, and Nadir noticed that she swallowed hard at the mention of the masked man's name. Did even the thought of him make her nervous now? If it did, then what hope was there?

"Everything is alright, isn't it?" he prompted her gently.

She gave a weak smile in response and raised her shoulders just a little. "I… I don't know. In all honesty… I'm not sure how well things are. This isn't exactly a situation I'm familiar with."

He smiled at her attempt at a joke, but even she didn't seem to find it particularly amusing. He had to admire the young girl's perseverance… he didn't imagine that many others would be able to handle this situation so well. He beckoned her towards an empty table and coaxed her into sitting down while they talked. She explained how her first music lesson with Erik had been… their entire interaction after what had happened. In all honesty Nadir wasn't surprised by any of it… it was understandable that the two would be treading on eggshells around each other, equally unsure of themselves.

One comfort, however, was when he asked her: "Do you regret becoming his student?" Perhaps the one thing that would make matters worse would be if she said that she couldn't handle it and refused to attend her lessons with Erik. Nadir dreaded to think what kind of reaction that might prompt from Erik.

But, to his astonishment, her eyes widened at his question, but it wasn't from fear… just surprise. Then she gave a small laugh… a genuine one.

"Regret it? Oh no! Never! I mean…" she blushed a little here, "I know we've only had one lesson so far but even so… I can't believe it. I mean… he told me he was a musician, but I never thought he was so talented! And his voice… oh, you must have heard his voice!"

Nadir nodded and smiled. He might have known that the young girl would be taken with Erik's musical ability… his genius. He had had the privilege of listening to Erik sing, and knew that no one on earth could hope to match the beauty of his voice… or its power. It was no surprise that Christine had been won over by it… her whole face seemed to light up just at the memory, dispelling that haunted look in her eyes. Nadir wasn't entirely sure what to think of this… he knew that Erik's voice was more than just a thing of beauty. He hoped that Erik would not use it to manipulate her, though he was certainly capable of using it in such a way.

But perhaps… if there was a meeting of minds through their love and appreciation of music…

Their discussion would have continued further if there had not been an interruption at that exact moment. Nadir looked beyond Christine's shoulder, surprised to see a well-dressed young gentleman enter the tavern. His attire instantly labelled him as someone from the Upper-City… certainly not a man who belonged in the slums. He removed his hat and turned to reveal a handsome face, fair skin and well-groomed blonde hair. He looked around the room, apparently searching for someone.

His eyes fell upon Christine, and Nadir felt an icy hand seize his gut.

"Christine!"

The young man approached their table, and the young girl, noticing the newcomer, rose to greet him. It was impossible not to notice a change in her when she saw him. Colour rushed to her face, and she seemed more animated, less tired than she had been. Her smile was bright and innocent as she greeted the young man, who took her by the hand without even a moment's hesitation.

"Raoul, what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of concern beneath the delight.

"I came to see you, of course," said 'Raoul', his smooth forehead creasing suddenly. "I was worried… you didn't come for your lesson this week."

Christine gasped and immediately launched into an apology. It didn't make much sense to Nadir at first, but he could guess enough… that this young man had, for whatever reason, taken it upon himself to provide Christine with a teacher.

Nadir frowned. So where did Erik stand in all this?

The young man finally seemed to have noticed Nadir, because he gave Christine a meaningful look and she flushed, immediately introducing the two men. Nadir was surprised to learn that the young man was in fact Raoul de Chagney. He knew of the family, and it only added to his confusion as to why he was here, and apparently was on such friendly terms with Christine… although, when he thought about it, hadn't Christine mentioned the name to him on their first encounter?

"Raoul and I have been friends since we were children," Christine explained, the pink blush still in her cheeks. Nadir nodded politely in response to this information, but inside he realised that this young man changed everything. Nadir was suddenly afraid that he may have unwittingly set in motion a great and terrible tragedy by encouraging Erik and Christine's friendship because, as he had witnessed days ago, he was beginning to suspect that there was more to it than that, from Erik's point of view at least.

But if Christine and this boy… if they were… His mind reeled at the implications.

"Would you excuse us for a moment, sir?" the young man asked politely, taking hold of Christine's arm. Nadir made a gesture for them to go on, and the couple retreated towards a corner. He watched their conversation like a hawk, wishing he could hear what they said.

It was all to clear to see that there was something between them. They must have been childhood sweethearts, he guessed. He watched their body language and expressions, trying desperately to glean more information. Certainly he knew enough to see that they were close and yet… in spite of Christine's blushes and delight at seeing him, there was also a wariness to her interaction with the de Chagny boy… as if she were holding back from him, while the boy himself was seemingly trying to encourage her to open up to him.

Nadir chewed his lip worriedly as he watched them. He might not know the intricacies of their relationship… but anyone who looked at them would not take long in putting two and two together.

And if Erik saw… what would he think?

What would he _do?

* * *

_

**The Dancing Herald**

"Are you sure you're alright Christine… you seem… anxious. You're not still ill, are you?"

Although she was touched by Raoul's obvious concern, Christine shook her head and smiled. She was not about to relate to him the true reason behind her rather gaunt appearance… nor her absence from Madame Carlotta's lesson. She had spun him a tale about coming down with a little fever, and that she had not wanted to pass it on to anyone, least of all him… and she had unfortunately forgotten to send a message apologising for not being able to attend her lesson. If Raoul had been angered by her absence, if was quickly replaced by concern for her well-being.

"I'm much better now, Raoul… honestly. You don't have to worry."

He did not seem entirely convinced, and she knew he suspected there was some other reason for her behaviour. It was awful to have to lie to her childhood friend in such a way… but she couldn't bear to tell him the truth. He would only worry more… and that would make her even more agitated.

The past few days had not been kind to her. Slowly things were beginning to get better for her, but she was still having trouble sleeping, afraid of the nightmares she might have. It made her stomach turn to think of going back to her new-found tutor, both with excitement and nervousness. She wanted to go… there was no denying that, but at the same time she was a little afraid. Erik had seemed so close to an angry outburst the last time they had met… she was worried that one day he would snap and do something terrible. But she couldn't say no… she couldn't turn down the chance to hear him sing again. Dear God… it was terrible, to have her emotions so confused all the time, and it made her feel so restless all the time.

"Well…" Raoul was saying, "It took a lot of convincing, but Madame Carlotta has said she will continue to give you lessons… so, you will come this week, won't you? I don't think I could convince her a second time."

Christine hesitated, unsure what to say in response to this. Looking at Raoul, and the earnest expression on his handsome face, she realised that he might take her refusal of Madame Carlotta's lessons a little too personally. He had gone through all that trouble to find her a tutor… it wouldn't be right to throw it back in his face and say that he had found the worst possible person to teach her. The last thing she wished to do was hurt his feelings after he had been so kind.

On the other hand, Erik would probably not be best pleased if he were to find out she was still accepting tuition from the opera diva.

But Erik was not there right now, not looking at her, and Christine found it impossible to say no to her old friend and, forcing herself to smile, promised that she would arrive at his home promptly at the appointed time. The genuine smile on Raoul's face was reward enough, but inside Christine felt herself withdraw, wishing that she didn't feel compelled to spare his feelings and lie…

Well… she'd just have to make certain that Carlotta's 'teachings' did not stifle her progress with Erik.

"And of course you'll stay a little while afterwards?" Raoul prompted with a grin.

She found herself blushing again and a small giggle escaped from her mouth as she nodded and said that of course she would. Perhaps it would be a relief to talk to Raoul again… and be far away from all the things that had worried her so much in recent days. It'd be nice to escape the real world for a while… and go back to the more pleasant times when things had been easier.

But her mind came rushing back to reality when Raoul asked her, in a low voice: "Christine…why are you with that man?"

She frowned, and then realised whom Raoul must be referring to.

"Nadir Khan? He's… a friend." she replied, since that was the only word she could think of to describe the foreign gentleman. "He came to see how I was. Why?"

"He's been watching us this entire time. He's never looked away. Don't you find that… strange?"

Christine nearly laughed at Raoul's conspiratorial tone, and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "No… I don't find it strange. He's probably just… curious, I suppose." She smiled. "We don't usually have such well-to-do patrons in the Herald."

Her attempt at humour at least seemed to lighten Raoul's mood, and he thankfully forgot about his suspicions, or at least he seemed to. With a laugh he said that he wouldn't make a spectacle of himself any longer then, and it would be best if he returned home. Christine felt his hand squeeze hers just a little, and blushed in surprise at the feel of it. With a polite nod to Nadir, and a warm goodbye to her, Raoul left the tavern, leaving her feeling a little more uplifted as she returned to her seat. Instantly she was aware that something was wrong… Nadir looked grim and worried.

"Are you alright?" she asked nervously, aware that he had watched Raoul leave the tavern and was still staring after him.

To her surprise, instead of dismissing her concern, he turned to look at her and leaned a little closer, as if he were worried about alerting someone to their conversation.

"May I ask… does Erik know of your relationship with that young man?"

It was such a strange questions to ask, and Christine found herself flushing under the intensity of Nadir's gaze. She had no idea why this might be so important but… he looked so serious…

"Well… I did mention he was paying for singing lessons… and that he was an old friend."

"I see…"

She watched Nadir's expression of worry deepen and, feeling that more information needed to be revealed, Christine found herself adding. "He seemed a little upset at the time."

"Upset?" Nadir asked, looked even more intrigued now.

"Yes… almost angry. I don't know why… maybe because _he_ wanted to teach me…"

This sounded like the most logical reason to her, now that she gave the matter some thought… after all, what other possible reason would Erik have to grow annoyed at her for having a tutor, since he hadn't known it would be Carlotta at that time. But the more she watched Nadir Khan, the more worried she grew as the man appeared to be locked in deep thought.

What could he possibly be thinking of?

He finally appeared to shake off his thoughts and made an attempt at an encouraging smile that, even to her, seemed forced.

"Probably," Nadir replied to her earlier statement, before rising slowly. "Well… I think perhaps I should take my leave also and let you get back to your work. Give my regards to Erik when you see him next."

Christine smiled at that… it seemed such an odd part in Nadir and Erik's fragile acquaintance. She didn't doubt that Erik would dismiss Nadir's well-wishes… and would probably never dream of sending him any in return, but it was endearing to see the foreign man continue to do his best. There was an almost father-like quality to it… no matter what the wayward son might do… the father always determined to make the best of things.

She wondered, in that moment, why they did not consider each other 'friends' and, if that was the case… why they associated with each other at all. Nadir's reasons, she could understand in a way, but what about Erik? It didn't seem to make any sense… not to her, anyway.

Instinct took over and she seized Nadir Khan's arm, knowing that this would be her last chance to ask this question for weeks, and that she might forget before she next saw him. He turned back to her with a worried expression on his face and she bit her lip nervously.

"May I ask… it's just… you say that you and Erik are not friends. And I think I can understand why you still associate with him. But… what about Erik? You said yourself he doesn't make friends... so why…" she struggled to put her thoughts into words, not quite sure how to express herself without sounding rude.

"Why would he put up with me?" Nadir finished for her, with a wry smile. Christine blushed a little, she hadn't meant it to sound like that, but Nadir didn't seem to mind at all and gave a sigh that, to her, seemed somehow sad.

"It has a lot to do with the circumstances under which we met… and I know you probably want to hear the story now but I'm afraid I can't tell you. It's more Erik's story than mine… and I don't think he would appreciate my telling you about his past. He doesn't like to talk about himself much… but if there's one thing he despises more, it's _other people_ talking about him."

Although she nodded in understanding, Christine felt her heart sink just a little, but then felt a gentle pressure on her hand as Nadir took it reassuringly.

"Don't be too distressed by it, Christine… perhaps one day Erik will tell you these things, though I can't promise that he will. You just have to be patient with him. I know you want to try and understand him better… and yes, learning about his past is a key part of that, but you'll have to do it on his terms."

Again she nodded. She knew that learning more about Erik would not be as simple as walking up to him and asking questions. She didn't need Nadir Khan to tell her that Erik's past was not a pleasant one… and even she had some idea of how difficult it was to talk about painful memories. So yes, she would have to be patient, as Nadir advised.

"But… do you really think he'll trust me enough?" she asked suddenly.

Another sigh from Nadir, and she could see him thinking deeply about the question, as if something was preying upon his mind. He glanced at her, and she tried to make her expression encouraging, hoping he would tell her what was on his mind. But he shook his head at last and again he appeared, to Christine, to be very sad.

"If he can't bring himself to trust you, then there really is no hope for him."

For a second Christine felt the weight of responsibility… as if Erik's fate rested entirely with her. Somehow she doubted she was ready for such a thing, until once again she felt the pressure of Nadir's hands.

"I didn't mean that quite in the way you think," he reassured her, obviously having read the expression on her face. "But I know you're a good, honest girl… and you're as close to Erik as anyone is ever likely to be. I hope… I _believe _you can bring out the best in him."

Christine wanted to believe it too… she wished desperately that she could, but something about Nadir's change in conduct worried her, as if his resolve had been shaken. Yet he still seemed to retain his belief. Who knew… perhaps one day she too would learn to have faith in Erik's deeply-buried virtue.

She hoped so… she truly did.

* * *

A/N: Well... a very important chapter, I think... even if there was no Erik. But we've had a lot of him in recent chapters... Raoul was bound to make a return sooner or later. And Nadir's worried... as he probably ought to be, hehe. We'll have to see how this goes... so until next time, thanks for the reviews! See ya! 


	22. Dark Passion

_Back for another chapter. I'm starting to get out of holiday mode (a little early for me but, oh well) which means I should be able to get back into my usual weekly-update schedule in a few weeks. Fingers crossed for that, hehe. Thanks once again for all your lovely reviews (best part of my day, reading them all)._

_Anyway... on with the chapter... enjoy!_

Chapter 21

**The Dancing Herald – Evening**

Beyond the kitchen, the tavern had been gradually quieter during the pat hour, and Christine swallowed nervously as she knew that it meant her work was coming to an end for the night. It was almost time for her second lesson with Erik and, if possible, she felt even worse than she had before their first. She was still jumble of emotions as she wiped down the kitchen table and finally announced, with some reluctance, that she was finished for the evening.

"Christine…"

She turned to Meg, who had spoken up worriedly… and knew what was to come next.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Christine nodded, even though this was only half true. Yes, a part of her wanted to go… wanted to see Erik and listen to his voice again, if possible… hear him play the piano once more… but she would belying if she said she didn't still have reservations about going.

Her conversation with Nadir the previous day had not helped either… she was unsure whether to be comforted or disturbed by the things he had said. When he left he seemed so worried, in spite of his best efforts to hide it… and Christine wished she had had the chance (not to mention the courage) to ask him what was on his mind. Ever since then ideas had been ticking over inside her head endlessly… never giving her a moment of peace. Her imagination was doing even more damage to her frayed nerves than anything Nadir could have said.

But she was still resolved to go, regardless of the churning feeling in her stomach.

"You don't have to go," Meg suggested suddenly.

Christine stared at her friend, and felt a little angry at her for having said such a thing. But she held back from making an impulsive response. Having an argument with her best friend would not help anything. Despite how much Meg knew about her situation… and about Erik… Christine knew she still didn't quite grasp the meaning of it all, although she did her best. But Meg's primary concern was the welfare of her friend, not some strange masked man who, as far as she could tell, was dangerous and unstable.

Once again Christine felt compelled to explain the reasons why she did have to go, but there was no time for that… she knew Erik would be waiting for her and so merely embraced her friend reassuringly.

"I'll be fine, Meg… I promise," she insisted, although whether or not she believed this she wouldn't like to say. With that, she grabbed her shawl from one of the hooks by the door and rushed out into the alley before she could be convinced into staying. She was in such a blind rush that she collided with the dark figure who had just arrived outside to meet her.

"I suppose I should be pleased with your enthusiasm," Erik said smoothly as he steadied her on her feet. The collision didn't appear to have phased him in the least, although Christine had nearly lost her balance and fallen… more out of surprise than anything else. She laughed nervously to try and cover her embarrassment and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"Are you hurt?"

She shook her head and made an effort to apologise, but Erik waved it aside gruffly. He didn't seem in much better spirits than when they had parted a few days ago, which did nothing for her own feelings of nervousness. There was still that cold edge to his voice, and a tension in his body too… she had felt it when they touched, however briefly.

"Are you ready then?" he asked, as if he expected her to make some excuse not to go with him.

Instead she nodded, looking as confident as she could, and they began to walk towards the apartment in the Lower City, silent as ghosts. This time, neither of them tried to start a conversation… either because they couldn't think of a remotely suitable subject, or they didn't want to interrupt the other's private thoughts. In a way, Christine realised, the silence was good… as long as it was natural… not caused by embarrassment or nervousness. It was better than having to deal with the awkwardness of conversation… which always threatened to lead to one of Erik's black moods.

Erik opened the door to the apartment and gestured for her to enter. He then followed behind her into the parlour room, where the piano sat waiting for them, like a living creature awaiting the caress of its beloved master. Christine felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth at this. It seemed like an ideal comparison to her. At least this part of the lesson she could genuinely look forward to…

"Now…" Erik said rather sternly, as if forcing himself to slip into the role of teacher. "We'll begin with a warm-up."

And so they went through the routine, almost exactly the same as last time, although she suspected that Erik was surreptitiously encouraging her to take them a little further this time. He stopped once or twice to correct her on stance and breathing, displaying only the barest traces of annoyance at the things she had forgotten since their first lesson. When she apologised, afraid that she had angered him more than her was prepared to show, he once again dismissed it.

"Given time this will all come naturally to you. Now… have you been doing the other exercises I instructed you to do?"

She nodded, remembering the more difficult tasks he had asked of her, designed, so he said, to give more natural strength to her range, and better control over the kind of sound she was able to produce.

"And?" he prompted rather impatiently, when she didn't continue.

She faltered, not realising that Erik had expected her to evaluate her own performance. She tried to find something to say… some kind of constructive criticism.

"I'm… I'm not really comfortable with some of the higher exercises," she confessed, blushing a little. "I mean… I can reach the notes, but I feel so breathless afterwards, and I don't think they come out as strongly as they could."

Erik stared at her from the behind the mask, and so intently she had to lower he eyes to the lush carpet under he feet, and even then she could still feel him watching her. Had she disappointed him now… would he believe he was wasting his time teaching her and tell her to leave? For some reason that though made her twist up painfully inside…the thought of failing him was almost unbearable… because she felt that failing in her lessons now would mean much more than just the end of her tuition…

"Show me," Erik said, playing the notes to one exercise. She faltered again as she tried to remember which one, and caught it just in time to join Erik's playing. She sang as she had done when she practised alone, and then, as the music soared upwards, and she had to hold a particularly high note, she felt her voice quaver.

Almost immediately the music stopped and, to her surprise, Erik stood up from the piano so fast the stool he had been seated upon fell over with a dull thud that made her jump. She felt herself begin to shake as Erik moved around the piano and approached her, and that instinctive fear that was buried within her surged upwards to the point where she was forcing herself to hold her ground and not turn and run. His yellow eyes looked so intense… burning up from the inside…

He stopped about two feet from her and then looked her up and down and… although she wasn't entirely certain because of the mask, she could sense the derision in his gaze.

"You have altered your stance… again," he told her, the angry note in his voice plain as could be. "And you are not breathing as I instructed you to… it's no wonder you can't hold the note properly."

Christine felt herself flinch, and then lowered her eyes. Unexpectedly, tears of shame were forming… she could feel disappointment in the air around her… she was letting him down.

"You should not be breathing from here…" Erik said, pointing a long, thin digit at her chest. "_Here_…" and now he lowered is hand to point to just below her ribs. "Here…" he repeated, now pressing one hand to his own abdomen, just above his stomach. "So that your whole body seems to fill up with air… try it!"

But she was too taken aback to react. For some reason Erik's demeanour had changed dramatically, and what she had initially mistaken for anger was energy… intense, almost obsessive energy, all directed at her, and she struggled as she mirrored Erik's movement, placing a hand on her own body where he had placed his… she tried to feel that place inside her… and breathed deeply…

"Don't strain… make it as natural as possible…" Erik said, now circling her like a hungry vulture. She did her best to ignore his actions and concentrate on his words, but this turned out to be impossible when he suddenly grabbed her by the arm and began to pull her away from the piano and into another room… one of the bedrooms…

Panic seized her, and she tried to struggle, pushing at Erik's fingers with her free hand to try and dislodge his grip… what did he think he was doing? She readied herself, preparing to scream…

Erik swung her around, and she came to a sudden stop, finding herself face to face with… herself?

"Look," Erik said feverishly, standing to one side of the huge mirror in front of which he had placed her, so that it only showed her reflection. She frowned at him, confused beyond imagining, and then watched as he straightened himself, assuming the stance he had taught her a few days ago…

"Align yourself," he said, gesturing for her to copy him and watch herself in the mirror. "Imagine there is a straight line running through your head and down your throat and into your body… don't force yourself… don't be tense… _don't_ tilt your chin," he almost shouted, slamming a fist against the wall to emphasise this final point.

Christine felt breathless and afraid… Erik's sudden excitement was disturbing, and as much as she tried to follow his instructions she was flustered, wishing that he would calm down. It occurred to her, quite suddenly, that she was now the complete focus of his musical genius, his obsession… she suddenly had an image of him bent over a musical score, furiously working away at every little detail, satisfied with noting but absolute perfection… then another image of him playing… not a soft, gentle piece but a thundering, angry composition, his fingers pounding the keys as he put everything that he had… everything that he was into the music…

"Erik," she whispered, her voice close to a sob of fear. She couldn't handle this…she felt as if she were going to burst from the stir of emotions going on inside her… fear, exhilaration… and something strange that seemed to be the beginnings of its own obsession.

There was silence, punctuated only by their breathing. Hers was ragged with fright and the threat of tears, his was deep and powerful… as though he had just sung a magnificent aria and now, energy rushing through him, thought of nothing else but continuing on… not wanting the music to end.

But slowly, as she watched him, she saw the burning in his yellow eyes recede, and he took a breath that was almost a gasp, before quickly turning away, as if he couldn't stand the sight of her… and she could see that he was fighting to compose himself, realising perhaps that he had lost control in some way. He didn't speak for some time, and she wondered if he was ashamed, and would leave rather than face her.

Biting her lip nervously, she said his name again, but didn't dare take a step towards him, afraid of an angry, even violent outburst. Yes… that was what she was afraid of… because she saw, in this strange behaviour, an echo of what she had seen in that warehouse. She didn't know how to explain it… it was like a madness, one that he knew was there… like a wild beast inside him that he could unleash at will. Only, this time… she sensed that he had not intended to set it loose… not wanted her to see…

Once more she said his name, and was surprised that his only reaction was to leave the room, quickly and without so much as a word. She thought for a moment that he must have left the apartment… that that would be the end of their lessons and she would never see or hear him again.

Then, just on the edge of hearing, she caught the gentle sound of the piano. She remained absolutely still, listening as a soft, soothing melody that she had never hard before reached her ears and then was followed by something far more achingly beautiful…

Erik's voice…

She didn't doubt his reasons for going to the piano. He was trying to calm himself after what had just happened… rid himself of whatever madness had seized him so suddenly. How many times had she done the same thing in order to forget her troubles? Realising this, she felt her fear recede… after all, he had never intended to harm her. He had just been so…driven to make her stance and breathing perfect. He only wanted her to do well… and where was the harm in that?

She hesitated suddenly. The "harm" came from the fact that he had scared her… and the horrible possibility that he might not have been able to control his passion.

_But he did_, Christine reasoned with herself. _He held back because he saw he was frightening me._ _He's **trying**…_

Encouraged by this thought, Christine quietly left the bedroom and returned to the parlour, listening intently to Erik's soft voice. She recognised the song… a soothing lullaby that, along with Erik's voice, could have sent a wild animal to sleep. She clung to the doorframe, watching and listening. Erik's back was turned to her, and she saw how he moved a little with the rhythm of the music, his hands moving slowly over the keys, coaxing such beautiful sounds from the instrument and mingling his voice beautifully with them.

Christine felt the urge rise inside her and, before she even realised what she was doing, her mouth opened and she began to sing too. Erik's head turned ever so slightly, caught off guard, but the music never faltered, and she approached with growing confidence until she was standing by the piano, and their voices grew stronger together as the song continued.

Her voice felt different… better than before. Whether it was merely from the inspiration of signing with Erik, she wasn't sure, but she suddenly remembered what he had told her about posture and breathing, and adjusted her stance as he had instructed, placing a hand just below her ribcage, as before, so that she remembered where to breath from.

As the song reached a climax, she had to close her eyes. She felt strange… almost as though she were losing herself in the music, and the mingling of her voice with Erik's. It was like he had wrapped her in a warm cocoon of sound that lifted her voice carried it higher and higher, making her dizzy… euphoric. She was shaking with feelings she couldn't describe, and as the final notes died away she felt herself sinking back into a chair, breathless from the experience and, somehow, content.

**Apartment, Lower City**

Erik rose from the piano, trying not to show how unsteady he felt, and reached out to the little table where the water glasses stood. When he turned to Christine, she was seated in a chair, her eyes closed. Her breathing was quick and deep, as if she had just run a long way, but she looked peaceful… as if what they had just experienced had affected her deeply, soothed her in some way he had not anticipated.

But even he couldn't deny the effect their unforeseen duet and affected him. It took every ounce of will to keep the trembling from his hands and voice as he spoke Christine's name and, when she opened her eyes, held out the water glass to her. She took it from him unsteadily, and as he watched her drink, he saw that her fear had vanished, even though she as visibly shaking.

Well, at least that was something, he thought to himself… that her fear had evaporated. He had not intended to frighten her before… he simply lost that essential calm. His urgent desire to improve her voice had seized him all too quickly and made him lose any sense of self-control. It had happened before, when he became so deeply immersed in composing… he would grow almost frantic in his desire for perfection and, on more than one occasion, nearly destroyed his home when he failed to achieve what he desired. He might not have physically hurt Christine, but he could well imagine how much he had scared her. It was careless of him to allow that… he'd let his guard down. That was the problem, he realised… he was not used to requiring self-control when it came to music. He'd never had to mind his behaviour before, because he was always alone with his music.

But not anymore…

"I'm sorry," he said finally, causing her to lift her head. Her golden hair hung in her eyes, but she didn't attempt to push it away at first, waiting to hear what he had to say. "I frightened you…" he went on, looking away from her and cursing inwardly, feeling that he couldn't really explain himself and wishing fervently that he didn't feel as though he _must_ explain himself.

"No…" Christine replied softly. He turned back to her. She was staring down into the water, held between her two hands, as if it might give her some sign of what to say or do. "It's alright… I just… I thought you were angry with me at first."

He shook his head. No… it hadn't been anger. "I'm afraid I'm… something of a perfectionist," he told her, smiling a little behind the mask. He was surprised when she smiled too, even gave a small laugh.

"Yes… I can see." She looked up at him now, right into his eyes, and he realised that, against all probability, she understood exactly what had happened without him having to explain any more. He remembered having told her how important music was to him… and perhaps from that she just knew. It was a strange feeling… a strange thing to admit, that someone might actually understand him in even this small way. And yet, when he looked at her, gazing back at him with those innocent, accepting eyes, he felt… warmth… and the feeling that perhaps this was the first step on the way to her overcoming her fear.

"It was wonderful," she said. He narrowed his eyes, uncertain what she referred to, and watched her blush a little under his gaze. "Singing… with you," she explained, a soft smile touching her mouth.

He stared at her intently. Yes… it had been wonderful. Unexpected too… he had thought she would run away after what happened. And then, as he played, and sang to try and rid himself of that fiery passion that welled up so strongly inside of him, he had heard her voice join his, timid at first, then with growing confidence. He hadn't known what to do… except continue so that the moment would not have to end. He'd never sung with anyone before… even as a child. It had always been him, alone with his voice… no one dared join him… more often they had tried to silence him, afraid of the power he possessed.

And here was Christine… this innocent child. He knew she was telling the truth… that she was not attempting to cover her fear by showering him with compliments.

"It was," he agreed, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable with her confession.

"Could… could we… sing together again?" she asked, blushing again.

Again he narrowed his eyes, not in suspicion this time, but more in an attempt to reassert his authority. He was meant to be her teacher, after all. "I've told you before… these lessons are for your benefit."

"I know," she said, "but… just every now and then? As a treat?"

It took a moment for what she had said to sink in, and then Erik found himself laughing. Not a derisive laugh… one of genuine surprise and amusement. Of all the things she could have said, he never expected this almost child-like request.

"A treat?" he echoed, still chuckling. "As a reward for your good behaviour, I suppose?"

She didn't appear offended by his amusement, although she the colour in her cheeks deepened as he watched. "I don't see why not," she continued, smiling up at him with a hopeful look in her eyes. "And besides… I will have to sing duets at the opera, won't I?"

He had to admit, that she had a good point. She would need some practice with singing duets… even unison singing… how to find her own note among many and hold her own among other singers. There would be a limit to how much he could assist her in this… but still…

"I suppose it would be useful…" he said aloud, regarding her thoughtfully. He saw the hope in her eyes grow stronger, and in that instant knew that he couldn't say no to her request. "We will see…" he added quietly, although his tone indicated that he had agreed to her request, even if he hadn't said so aloud. Her smile told him she understood… and it felt like a secret had just passed between them… something special that was only for the two of them to know.

"For now, however…" and he made a gesture for her to stand. Nodding, Christine took a final sip of water and rose to her feet. They returned to their former positions by the piano, but Erik could feel how things had changed… how easier it was to look Christine in the eye and give her instruction… without that damnable tension hanging in the air all around them. He didn't fool himself into thinking it was gone for good… especially if he let his control slip again. Even as he listened to her sing he could feel that dark passion stirring. One day, he feared it would be entirely out of his hands.

He didn't dare contemplate what would become of them when that time came.

_**A/N:** For some reason the lines aren't working on the chapter edit. Weird that... sorry, hehe. Anyway, I hope you liked this. I wasn't going to have this chapter originally, but when I thought about the chapter that was originally going to be up, I realised that I'd been a bit lazy with the story (you'll probably see what I mean when you read the next chapter). I thought it was important to see the first step in Christine's getting over her fear... and it gave me the opportunity to show another side of Erik's character... he kind of reminds me of Leroux's Erik here, hehe._

_I also had to go a little more indepth with Erik's teaching methods. I've had a few singing lessons, and did some extra research on posture and breathing for this chapter to try and get it right... so I hope no one's going to yell at me for making Erik a lousy teacher (that's Carlotta's job, hehe). If you think something's wrong please say so and I'll change it. Anyways... I hope you enjoyed. See you all next time!_


	23. Snowfall

_Here we are again! I'm glad you all liked the last chapter... thanks for the reviews. I hope this one doesn't dissappoint. _

_And big thanks to my new beta, TouchingTrusting!_

Chapter 22

**A month later **

**A Graveyard – The Slums**

Christine enjoyed the satisfying crunch of the snow under her feet, even as it soaked through her flimsy shoes to her already cold feet. But she was too content to really notice this… too busy enjoying the sensations around her – the freshness of the air and the sight of tiny snowflakes drifting down like fairies from the sky.

There had been barely an inch of snow on the ground when she had awoken that morning, but even that was enough to make the city appear like something out of a whimsical fantasy tale. She didn't mind the cold so much, even with nothing but a flimsy shawl to guard against it. She found it refreshing in a way, and had considered it a good day to come to this place.

Kneeling down beside her father's gravestone, she dusted the thin layer of snow from the top of it, and brushed away the flakes from the carved letters. She couldn't help but smile, like she used to when her father had been alive and she would proudly demonstrate how she had memorised the lyrics to a song she had heard only that morning.

But she felt that perhaps she had the right to be a little proud… a little happier with the way things were now. She no longer had to steal to earn her way… not merely because Stefan was no longer around… but because the owner of the Dancing Herald had finally given in to Meg's pestering and asked Christine to be their full-time musician. It had only been a few days ago, and Christine was still bubbling with the excitement of finally having a stable income for herself and Mama Valerius. It was such a great weight off her mind…

Almost enough for her to forget her other dilemmas.

She sighed as she began, with exquisite care, to tidy the gravestone… clearing away some of the moss that had grown over the past few weeks. As she did this she began to hum, then sing softly to herself. Another smile came to her face as she reminded herself to breathe properly… something she was always very careful with now. Erik's teaching had forced it to become almost instinctive…

"It will all come as second nature to you soon," Erik had told her in one of their earlier lessons.

"I hope so," she had said, though not without a hint of scepticism.

She'd felt him watching her, and for a moment had worried he might be angry at her lack of confidence. But instead, he'd merely replied, "You'll see," with a note of amusement in his voice that suggested he would be more than happy to prove his point.

_He certainly did that,_ Christine thought to herself.

Over the past few weeks her lessons with Erik had developed in more ways than she had imagined. They met at least twice a week and although, initially, things had been tense and awkward between them, gradually Christine had found herself relaxing around him. It wasn't that she forgot who he was… or the things he had done… but her confidence in him was growing. She was determined that, if they were more comfortable around each other, then she might be able to start trying to understand him more. After all, she reasoned, Erik would not want to open up to her if he felt she didn't trust him. So she tried her best to accept him as he was, without any knowledge of his past. And she found that every day she grew more certain of the fact that, for all Erik's black moods and angry outbursts, he never intended (and certainly never wished) to harm her in any way. His concerted efforts to restrain himself were proof enough of that.

And, perhaps sensing her growing confidence and lack of fear, Erik also seemed to be calmer… and not on edge all the time, as he had been before. His progress was not quite as rapid as her own, but she knew better than to push things too far, because then she risked one of his bitter mood swings and, although they didn't frighten her half so much anymore, they did make her nervous and uncomfortable, threatening to leave them both struggling in an uncomfortable silence, needing desperately to re-establish that former calm in order to continue.

As for the lessons themselves, well… it would have been hard to explain to anyone who was not there just how wonderful… how unbelievable those lessons were. Christine had been questioned again and again by Meg and Mama Valerius, and still lacked the ability to fully express the response that Erik's talent evoked inside her. It was beyond explanation… in fact it was almost beyond comprehension. Erik's obsession, his constant striving for perfection, seemed to have infected her too, leading her to test the limits of her ability, only to find that they went far beyond what she had previously imagined. And the exhilaration she felt on discovering this was matched only by Erik's… although she knew he held himself back so as not to frighten her as he had done previously. But she had learnt that, in some strange way, joining him in his obsession curbed her fear of it, and even helped her to greater achievements. She didn't try to understand it… all Christine understood was that, with Erik's help she was able to progress rapidly, to the point where people were already commenting on how her voice had improved.

It made such a sharp contrast to her continuing lessons with Madame Carlotta, who still seemed as incapable of proper teaching as ever.Christine would dearly have loved to put an end to those torturous lessons… were it not for her desire to spend even a little time with Raoul. No matter how many disgruntled looks she earned from the servants of the household, or by the people she passed in the streets on the way to the house, it was always a charming relief to spend an hour or two with her childhood friend… like something out of a fairytale.

It was a shame they weren't children again… or they would have been out having snowball fights.

"I hope it's not too cold for you, daddy," she said with a smile. Then she sighed… a contented sigh. Everything around her was so quiet and calm and the world seemed so beautiful when covered by the pure white snow. There was only one thing missing, she thought, and that was someone to share it with.

As if answering her silent wish, she heard a voice speak her name.

"Christine?"

She turned to see a familiar dark figure approaching, made all the more dark because of the snow all around him, the white flakes drifting onto his black coat, even catching in his hair. She rose from her crouched position, surprised and yet strangely pleased to see the masked man.

"Erik…"she responded with a rather confused smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I might ask you the same thing…" he tilted his head meaningfully, and Christine wondered why something about his tone made her feel as though she had done something wrong.

"I was… I was just here to see my father," she explained, indicating the grave beside her.

She saw Erik's eyes narrow.

"I mean… why you appear to be standing here in the freezing cold with nothing but a meagre shawl!"

He put out his hand and dragged the shawl from her shoulders angrily, making her flinch as she remembered that, yes… he had instructed (more times than she could count, in fact) that she not go out in the cold without being properly wrapped up.

"I just…" she began, but Erik interrupted.

"Damn it, Christine!" he shouted, making her flinch once again as he flung the shawl at her feet to emphasise his fury. "I told you to buy a coat if you were going to wander around in the winter! Have you no sense at all?"

She was about to protest once again about her lack of money, and explain that hopefully she would be able to buy one soon, when she saw to her amazement that Erik was removing his own black coat and now held it out to her, with a look in his yellow eyes that suggested refusing to take it would be a mistake. Cautiously she took it from his gloved hands, but did not immediately put it on. She couldn't help but stare at Erik who, without his coat, dressed only in a black shirt, looked thinner than ever.

"But what about you?" she asked suddenly, concerned that someone in such a seemingly unhealthy condition would not be able to withstand the cold.

He seemed taken aback by her concern, and waved it aside quickly. "I am accustomed to the cold… now put it on."

Reluctantly, Christine did so, sliding her arms through the sleeves and buttoning the front. The coat locked in her body's heat and instantly made her feel warmer. Even her hands benefited from the fact that the arms were too long, and she curled them up inside the sleeves. She gave a grateful smile to Erik, touched by his thoughtfulness. Over the past few weeks, it had been small gestures such as this… his never-ending insistence that she guard her health… that helped her to begin overcoming her fear. It made her feel oddly privileged… especially remembering what Nadir Khan had told her… how Erik never made friends. Even if it was merely to protect her voice, his concern reassured her that her (and Nadir's) faith was not misplaced.

Erik, for his part, now looked on edge once more. He did not look at her, and so was not aware of her watching as he adjusted the high-necked cravat around his neck, which had been dislodged when he removed his coat. Christine could not withhold a small gasp when, for a fraction of a second, she caught sight of markings on Erik's neck… scars…

"Erik… your neck…"

She saw him tense up even more, as if the cold winter air had frozen him. "It's nothing," he said flatly.

But Christine was already worried, thinking that perhaps he had been injured during the fight with Stefan and never told her. "Did you get hurt when… when you helped me before?"

He looked at her again now, and for what must have been the thousandth time since they had first met, she wished she could see his expression.

"No…" he said, obviously making an effort to be calm. She realised that, however he had come by those scars, he did not wish to talk about it, and so she nodded and let the subject pass, although she found herself wishing that Erik would be a little more open with her. She was constantly aware that she knew so little about him… so little about the dark past that Nadir Khan had explained was so important to understanding Erik's behaviour. Whatever had happened to him, Christine knew it wasn't wise to pressure Erik into telling her… but that didn't stop her wondering.

So she merely pulled Erik's coat tightly around her, and, finally remembering her manners, murmured "thank you" from behind the high collar. He acknowledged her thanks with a nod, but nothing else, and they stood side by side in silence, looking at her father's gravestone. For a while Christine wondered if the silence would become awkward, but, to her surprise, Erik spoke.

"You must miss him very much."

There was a surprising amount of tenderness in his voice, something Christine had not heard before and it made her suddenly ache inside, as if she were reliving her loss. Her chest tightened, and a painful lump rose in her throat until she knew that she could not reply without crying. So she only nodded.

"May I ask… how?"

She wished he wouldn't… not when she felt on the verge of tears anyway… but she swallowed her rising sobs and drew a shuddering breath.

"Umm…. He died in an epidemic… over a year and a half ago…"

"I'm very sorry. "

It was almost too much to bear… the compassion in his voice. And the silence that followed was even worse. It begged to be filled until Christine knew that she had to say something… anything…

"What about your parents? Where are they?"

Even with the warm coat, Christine felt the atmosphere around them change, as though she had been dropped into an icy river, and was instantly aware that she had asked the wrong question. When she risked glancing at Erik, she was surprised that his intense gaze didn't crack the stone of her father's grave. It was hard to fight the urge to step away from him.

For a while she thought he wouldn't answer… then, surprisingly, he did.

"My father is dead… as for my mother, I don't know or care."

Now Christine did flinch away a little. The venom in his voice… she'd never heard anything like it, anywhere… and to hear someone speak so bitterly about their family… their own mother…

"Erik, that's – "

"A terrible thing to say?" he interrupted angrily. "Well, I would expect you to think so… but then, not everyone had the privilege of such an idyllic childhood."

The way he spoke made Christine feel almost guilty for her so called 'idyllic' upbringing, and she was a little hurt by his words. She wondered what could possibly have happened to Erik in his youth to make him resent his parents so much. A nagging suspicion told her that it must have something to do with his face… but somehow she couldn't believe that Erik's own flesh and blood would judge him for that. Family was family after all… she'd always thought that the love between a parent and their child would be unconditional. But, looking at him, she realised that she had touched upon a very delicate subject… Erik's long, gloved fingers were clenched into tight fists, and he was shaking.

Oh god… What had he been through? The question was enough to erase any feeling of hurt she felt at his words. It was eclipsed entirely by curiosity and concern.

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean…"

Erik waved aside her apology, but his brusque dismissal did little for the tense atmosphere around them, and the silence that followed was awful. But Christine didn't have the nerve to break it… pursuing their current topic of conversation would have been unwise… and she couldn't think of anything else to talk about.

And then she felt it, a tickling behind her nose… she felt her breathing falter, her eyes squeeze shut, and she barely had time to raise her hands to her face before she sneezed at a volume that was quite embarrassing. Blushing, she apologised, and then felt herself being taken gently but firmly by the arm.

"You're not to spend any more time out in this cold," Erik said sternly, a teacher once again.

Understanding that he was mostly likely right, Christine nodded and allowed herself to be led away, though not before reaching out to brush her fingers over her father's gravestone once more.

"Goodbye, daddy," she murmured. It was strange she didn't feel embarrassed in the least about speaking this way in front of Erik. Once, Meg had come along with her to the graveyard, and it had made Christine uncomfortable… she'd felt unable to say anything to her father's spirit… but not now. She sensed no judgement from Erik… only a concern that she had felt for several weeks now, and which she appreciated greatly. _Strange_, she thought to herself with a smile as she allowed Erik to lead her away.

**The Slums**

Erik had not been happy to find Christine in that place. He had gone to the Dancing Herald as soon as he realised that snow had fallen, to make certain that Christine did not risk her health too much by venturing outside. He had encountered her dancing friend, Meg, once more, and been told that she was at the graveyard.

What he had said in response to this news had turned the young girl quite pale.

He'd stormed away, determined to give Christine a serious reprimand for her behaviour, especially since it defied his instructions. His anger had abated just a little at seeing her kneeling beside her father's grave, speaking softly to the lifeless stone, but he had not allowed himself to be swayed completely… not caring if his anger frightened her this time.

But even that had been nothing compared to her reaction to his rage at the mention of… his parents.

He shook the memories away… he did not want them plaguing him now. For years he'd forced himself to lock all those dark secrets away, never allowing them to resurface. The angry screaming… the crying…

_Stop it_, he warned himself. If he continued to think of these things, he would grow angry, and that would only lead to him distancing himself from Christine. And he did not want that.

So strange for him to be admitting such a thing now, after so much denial, but it was true. He was learning to accept it now. If he drove her away, he wouldn't be able to listen to her voice… to her wonderful progress under his tuition, and how she seemed to grow more and more at ease in his company… even after several less than pleasant situations, when he had allowed himself to lose control and, he suspected, almost succeeded in driving her away completely. He could sense those moments approaching sometimes… perhaps Christine could too. He didn't fool himself into thinking she was entirely comfortable in his presence… and he wasn't certain if she ever would be. Yet she continued with their lessons, and he found it encouraging to see her confronting her fear of him. It almost made him believe that she really could accept him for who he was. But he wasn't ready to trust her completely… not yet.

Not when she didn't even have the sense not to wander around in the cold, he thought sardonically, as she sneezed yet again.

"Perhaps we will postpone your lessons this week," he said quietly.

She stared up at him, her eyes wide with surprise and confusion.

"I won't risk you damaging your voice if you fall victim to a cold," he explained serenely.

"But," she protested suddenly, "I don't have a cold. I only sneezed… surely I'll be alright tomorrow?"

He gave her a stern look, and saw her flinch again, then lower her head in a gesture of compliance. He didn't regret making her flinch this time… after all, she knew that he didn't like to be questioned. In fact, he should probably have punished her for her disobedience in walking around in the cold… but, for some reason, he didn't seem to want to. Not after seeing her bent down beside her father's grave… and hearing her speak to the stone as if it were a living person. Should he be concerned for her mental state? He wasn't certain… perhaps it was merely her way of coping with the loss of someone she clearly loved… and he couldn't pretend to know anything about losing a loved one.

_Because you've never cared about anyone but yourself_, snarled a voice from the depths of his mind… and he would have agreed with this bitter statement had another thought not immediately surfaced to answer:

_Until Christine came along… _

He risked glancing at her as they continued to walk. To his surprise, she seemed upset, as if being deprived of their lessons was something to be mourned.

He looked away once more, and felt a restless frustration build up as his thoughts battled fiercely with each other. What was it about this girl? There was something more to her… something he still couldn't explain, even after all this time. But it was enough to make him seek her out to be sure she was guarded against the cold… enough to send little pangs of regret through him when something he had said or done upset her… enough, even, to make him wonder how pleasant it might be to enjoy her company every day, even outside their lessons… without her wandering off to associate with other members of the human race.

He shook his head… what a ridiculous idea. The whole point of these lessons had been to put Christine on the stage… to see her perform to the admiration of thousands of people. That was their goal… to make them see, and more importantly, _hear_ her.

Then why did he have such misgivings about it now?

They arrived back at the tavern, and when he saw that Christine still appeared disappointed, he found himself relenting a little.

"We will see how you are tomorrow," he told her levelly. She looked up at him hopefully before he quickly added: "Until then, you're not to go outside, is that understood? And if you show any signs of a cold when I come to collect you then there will be no lessons until I'm certain you have recovered."

Christine appeared to accept these terms, and nodded reasonably. He was pleased by the look of determination in her eyes… far better than the fear he might have expected. He was resolved to be strict with her, but he didn't want to be seen as a tyrant when it came to her tuition. She already knew his constant need for perfection in music, and although he knew it had made her frightened and uncomfortable at first, she now appeared to understand and accept it. He believed that, were she not quite so gentle and demure, she might even have been caught up in his obsession… joined him in his task to create an absolute perfection of sound. He knew that she had such potential, but for now it was her lack of faith in herself that held her back.

Still… given time she would see her full potential. Everyone would see… and hear… this remarkable beauty that he had helped create.

He felt that spark of obsessive delight flare up again, and caught himself smiling behind the mask at the thought. He nearly checked himself before remembering that she couldn't see it. And yet, she was smiling back… as if she could sense it, in spite of the mask between them.

She began removing his coat, clearly intent on returning it, but she hadn't slid one arm out of the sleeve before he stopped her.

"Keep it," he told her calmly. "In this weather… you need it more than I do."

"But – " she protested, but was silenced by the sharp look he gave her.

"I have another I can use," he said, trying to sound dismissive and uncaring. He turned away so he wouldn't have to see the expression on her face… that mixture of confusion and… some other emotion he couldn't identify.

"Thank you."

It was quite extraordinary… to hear her thank him, and find himself awash with a mixture of discomfort and…warmth, was the only way he could describe it. He didn't know if he would ever get used to it. Then again, he supposed he simply wasn't accustomed to doing things worthy of gratitude. He'd never considered it worth his time.

Now all he wanted was to hear her say those two words again.

_A/N: There you have it. Sorry for the "one month later" thing... I don't usually like doing that but I felt it was the best thing at this point in the story. I hope you still get the sense of development between Erik and Christine. So... I hope you enjoyed it. See you all next time!_


End file.
